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ay Judas came up to D.C.
He'd been down in Georgia for a while
He drove a 944
He bought with the soul
Of a blonde-headed kid
With a left-handed guitar
Now he's lookin' for me
Citizen see-O-P-E
Sign the dotted line please
For the fake 50's
Now Judas answer me
"Since I was the age to speak
Haven't you been listening?"

Salvation
Salvation
Salvation
Salvation
I'm calling
Salvation

Well he came to town
Found the woman that I love
And he fucked her down
She told him where I live
Off of 9th in the alleyway
Where they say
They got the coke and the dope
Until you end up broken
"You should have let the smack get you" he said
"But now you've got to deal with me instead
I'm downstairs on the Motorola
You know I've got 3 golden bullets
And I'm shooting for your soul"
Salvation

Salvation
Salvation
Salvation
I'm calling
Salvation

Well I came down with my Martin blazin'
My voice
It was cutting him up
Now he's aiming
His first shot grazed my eye
I lost half of my sight
And my firstborn's life
The second shot grazed off my guitar moon
And it made my guitar kinda play out of tune
But I just kept playing
Like I had nothing to lose
He turned the third on himself
'Cause the bastard knew

Salvation I'm calling
Salvation
Salvation
Salvation
Salvation
I'm calling
Salvation

Put the gun down
Put the gun down
Put the gun down
Put the gun down

Put the gun down
Put the gun down
Put the gun down
Put the gun down

Much better. I didn't start feeling ok until about a week after the beers, and it took two weeks before I started feeling well consistently. I'm trying to get my life rolling but it can be tough. Need a mate most of all. Need friends. Need to be social and out in front of people.

During my tranquil walks, numerous strangers have come before me to learn of my wonderfully misogynistic, guinea-hoarding philosophy. This was a confusing and bizarre occurrence at first. Naturally, I wrongly assumed opium and ether abuse had reached an apex in Coventry and merely pointed at the fools while engaging in hearty laughter.

It more recently came to my attention that townsfolk had been plastering buildings with large posters upon which the lettering read “Disregard Females, Acquire Currency”. During festive gatherings, some had prepared themselves for the proceedings my bringing scrolls with the same slogan and image affixed, displaying it for all to see when relevant to the proceedings.

Exactly why this somewhat bold statement has been ascribed to my likeness baffles me even at the moment of penning these writings. I cannot pretend these are not words I heed myself. With utmost certainty I can tell you that freshly issued gold sovereigns cause my mouth to salivate like the most wretched of beasts. The actions of feeble ladies rarely escape my scrutiny, although I am quick to fix my mind back unto business affairs.

The opposite sex had indeed opposed my advances for the better part of adult existence. I yearn not for pity when I disclose that indifference and inexpensive wine have become two dear friends only rivaled by my lust for bank notes.

In younger years, the porcelain-skinned and curvaceous among the fairer sex gave my eyes great delight. Gay music filled the room as I danced fanciful jigs often admired by most of those in attendance. Rarely did it bring the attention of those I most sought; although on occasion a drunken maiden lacking incisor teeth would join me in slumber.

One such maiden was called by those who knew her, Fraglene Bum-bóia. Pressing business affairs usually keep me from pondering our time together. The exception is only made here so I can transcribe the events as they happened.

In short, Fraglene’s uncouth demeanor, ether habit and purse-leaching ways played a primarily role in the creation of my philosophical stance. Much of my time was wasted catering to her whims, when it should have been spent maintaining balances alongside the oil refinery.

She had a taste for Vieux Boulogne, a cheese so potent in smell that often I questioned if my nose itself had begun to tell treacherous lies. Each wheel I purchased for her got larger, of elevated extravagance and was more putrid than the last. She’d sit with a white cloth firmly pressed upon her nose, huffing sporadically while feasting on every last morsel of that horrible cheese.

Ten years ago I finally decided that I’d had enough of her unsavory behavior, forcing me to part with half of my fortune as we parted ways. After the court case had closed I could barely contain my anger, knowing well how she would spend my hard-earned guineas.

During these darkest hours, my own problems started compounding. My sadness was so heavy that I could hardly make it into my place of employment to tally the earnings of the company. My thoughts were barraged by so much negative emotion that even a fine day of croquet would not calm the nerves.

Although I cannot take credit for the exact wording of an unknown scholar, “Disregard Females, Acquire Currency” is indeed a fine slogan all should consider before acting on primal urges. Since the coins on my desk have begun to stack high again, those old memories of Fraglene have been pushed back so far that I can scarcely remember the putrid odor of Vieux Boulogne.

i was going to post how patiently i'm waiting to become a bluelighter, but finally! :D BLUELIGHTER STATUS! i had to abandon my old account because my ex and his girlfriend were aware of my screen name, and that crazy bitch would creep me often. hopefully they won't find me.

Yes. My happiness has been removed. It will take years to regain a will or motive. Until then, I sleep. I stumble around. I sleep. I wash things. I sleep. I don't remember what I did before I found my medicine. For now ill sleep. Ill wash thing. Ill sleep. Ill drive. Ill buy things. Ill cook small things. Ill sleep. Ill wash things. Ill stare blankly at the sky. Ill smoke and taste dryness. Ill sleep

I am staying busy and keeping myself out of trouble. It's not hard to stay clean if I keep my schedule jam packed.

never gray. its all or nothing with me, it seems. this weekend, and pretty much all the time lately, was such a shitshow. there's a few hours on friday and most of saturday night that cannot be accounted for. its becoming more and more common i wake up in bed and have no idea how i got there. luckily I was with two good friends who wouldn't let anything bad happen to me all weekend. but it's still very unnerving and potentially embarassing to black out and act belligerent. it's not usually my style. i thought that i had left all my trainwreck behavior back in high school and college.... to be honest I am not even sure why I feel the need to get soooo fucked up lately. like just a little bit is never ever enough. i have to go big or go home. and it doesnt matter what other people tell me or what responsibilities i forgoe. I go through these wild phases sometimes. I think this one needs to end now though. I dont like where it is going. and im starting to feel a bit out of control.

See, when we were children, we were taught '1, 2, 3,' and 'A, B, C,' but we weren't set down on our mothers' knees and taught the game of black and white. That's the thing that was left out of all our educations, the game that I was trying to explain with these wave diagrams. That life is not a conflict between opposites, but a polarity. The difference bewteen a conflict and a polarity is simply--when you think about opposite things, we sometimes use the expression, 'These two things are the poles apart.' You say, for example, about someone with whom you totally disagree, 'I am the poles apart from this person.' But your very saying that gives the show away. Poles. Poles are the opposite ends of one magnet. And if you take a magnet, say you have a magnetized bar, there's a north pole and a south pole. Okay, chop off the south pole, move it away. The piece you've got left creates a new south pole. You never get rid of the south pole. So the point about a magnet is, things may be the poles apart, but they go together. You can't have the one without the other. We are imagining a diagram of the universe in which the idea of polarity is the opposite ends of the diameter, north and south, you see? That's the basic idea of polarity, but what we're trying to imagine is the encounter of forces that come from absolutely opposed realms, that have nothing in common. When we say of two personality types that they're the poles apart. We are trying to think eccentrically, instead of concentrically. And so in this way, we haven't realized that life and death, black and white, good and evil, being and non-being, come from the same center. They imply each other, so that you wouldn't know the one without the other.

Now I'm not saying that that's bad, that's fun. You're playing the game that you don't know that black and white imply each other. Therefore you think that black possibly might win, that the light might go out, that the sound might never be heard again. That there could be the possibility of a universe of pure tragedy, of endless, endless darkness. Wouldn't that be awful? Only you wouldn't know it was awful, if that's what happened. The point that we all forget is that the black and the white go together, and there isn't the one without the other. At the same time, you see, we forget, in the same way as we forget that these two go together.

The other thing we forget, is that self and other go together, in just the same way as the two poles of a magnet. You say 'I, myself; I am me; I am this individual; I am this particular, unique instance.' What is other is everything else. All of you, all of the stars, all of the galaxies, way, way out into infinite space, that's other. But in the same way as black implies white, self implies other. And you don't exist without all that, so that where you get these polarities, you get this sort of difference, that what we call explicitly, or exoterically, they're different. But implicitely, esoterically, they're one. Since you can't have the one without the other, that shows there's a kind of inner conspiracy bewteen all pairs of opposites, which is not in the open, but it's tacit. It's like you say 'Well, there are all sorts of things that we understand among each other tacitly, that we don't want to admit, but we do recognize tacity there's a kind of secret between us boys and girls,' or whatever it may be. And we recognize that. So, tacitly, all of you really inwardly know--although you won't admit it because your culture has trained you in a contrary direction--all of you really inwardly know that you as an individual self are inseparable from everything else that exists, that you are a special case in the universe. But the whole game, especially of Western culture, is to coneal that from ourselves, so that when anybody in our culture slips into the state of consciousness where they suddenly find this to be true, and they come on and say 'I'm God,' we say 'You're insane.'

I met a girl years ago. I might just be using it. Romanticizing it. Acting like I had something special because I've never had anything special like that with someone. I have wished for it. I have been on the borderline. I had one experience with a girl in high school that was magical- a girl I crushed on from 7-8th grade through to my senior year- when I finally won her.

I mean I guess there are levels of magic, but I took acid the first night we were officially together. Everything was right. "This is what I've been missing all my life."- I wasn't even talking about her. I had had her. That wasn't our first night together. We snuck around before that- when she was still kind of dating another guy. Did the year before. That stopped. Then she was suddenly available. And came to me- at my work. And we spent that New Years eve, together. At around midnight, I dropped my first hit- ever of LSD- which came on blotter paper that had an orange sun on it.

It was amazing.

I came up at a girl named "Pearl"'s house, and smoked some marijuana. I kind of forget how I got around. I think I may have drove. It wasn't a really strong trip- It was one hit- everything just felt alive. All circuits online. I made it to Sara- at her best friends' house. She had no idea I was on anything. But we laid down and had a beautiful night, kissing, touching- carressing. My attention was high.

I don't think anything has come close to that, as far as that kind of thing goes, except for maybe, maybe the time I took ecstasy and fucked like a zombie for two days straight, just about. Apparently I was a sex machine, and uhh, had some Kama Sutra book locked away in my head. I doubt it was that significant, but it worked for her. I can't remember much, other than having an awareness of how the body worked, and working with it. I would wake up/come to yet again having sex. I know we slept some, but I was largely unconscious- yet aware.

But with Sara- high school New Years turn of millennium, that was the most I have ever been turned on.

I think I may have been chasing that, since.

I'm not sure what I was leading into.

Sober?

Sober, the most I have felt was with Donna. That was like acid without acid, when I touched her. A lot of potential there. There was.

But now I'm not sure. I mean it's been 3 years.

I began seeing this number 23 many years ago. Though I have continuously been ridiculed for my insanity, people simply don't get it. I stand by that. It's in my life. It is around important stuff. You'd have to be there. It's all around my birth, so many ways. It's around these girls, through multiple dimensions of observation possible. I don't want to try to convince, here, though. It's everywhere.

She was around it. It was around her. I told her about it. I met her on the 23rd. And when we ended, I drowned her in it, or attempted to. Not drown really. Not my attempt, but it was a flood that I sent her. I couldn't hold it in. I had been trying. I wanted to release it just like "Hey, you know... haha- this. Whadayaknow?"- but she went back to work stripping, and I never heard from her again. How could I let someone go, who asked me who I was, and suddenly I could hear my voices clearly telling me that she was my wife- and her name matched my mother's name? Which happened to be 2 to the 3rd power multiplied by 23. I only found out, through her. Of course it wasn't just number. I felt on fire with her the first night. In a good way. I shut it off, though. I felt like I might be driving full speed off of a cliff, and I didn't trust. I had only just met her. I had to act with reservation. I might be too heavy for her. I felt weak. I didn't want her to have to hold me up. I felt weak, and that made me feel weak. Not masculine. Not strong. Not what I wanted to be.

I wanted to be a provider. And I had not the capability at the time. I had no home to bring her to. She expressed interest in quitting her job. Perhaps I influenced that. I wanted that. I wished I could have had stability to bring her into a home. Invite her in-completely. Marry her then, when the voice said she was my wife. Yea.

If only life was so simple. Right?

I know I'm crazy.

She went back to work. I acted not as interested as I was, for days. Holding off. And she took my distance as perhaps not being interested. I don't know. When she went to work, though (203 weeks from upcoming 12/21/2012... just the end of another kind of cycle.), I didn't hear from her again in any civil manner. I held back. I shouldn't have. It was my fault. It was in my control... but her heart was threatened, and her situation wasn't stable, and she needed to take care of herself, and that's how she does it. Taking her clothes off and dancing for men, and women. Boyfriends aren't too compatible. Or I wasn't.

I didn't want to let her go. It was too significant. Throughout life this 23 as I have seen it has showed up in ways that I couldn't quite pin down- what it was, to ways very ordered.

She had a lot of order around her. Even after her, my life reflects her in ways I won't try to lay out here, again. I feel I've done it too many times.

But I didn't think I made any kind of impression on her. She was the first girl to threaten to call the cops on me- and I have no idea what I really did to spark that. I left some stuff at her place. I was worried about her, too- as we spent time together, she cried in front of me, about things, and opened up greatly. How could I not feel a connection, or a sense of wanting to make sure she was alright, when suddenly I didn't hear from her (after she went back to work, and when I thought we had planned to meet again)... especially after what I had experience in light of the rest of my life, and my most sacred connections, and her with this number, that had been around... that had kept reinforcing it's prevalence... as something, around importance. I just felt like it was wrong not to try to make contact. That pushed her, and made her push me away. She I guess needed to be left alone then. Live and learn.

First girl I wanted to take home in a long time. Resisted that first weekend, when I had the chance. Didn't want to be weird. Perhaps I should have. Should. Could. Would.

Get to the point.

I didn't know I made any kind of impression. I still don't know. I still stalk her. I have felt at times she has considered me, and what actually happened, and what I tried to tell her happened. She didn't really reject me. I left her place two or three times in just a few days- when she wanted me to stay.

Get to the point. ... Yea.

Now I visit a page of hers, and I see this number- 23, displayed prominently. It's a nail-art thing. Something that is occurring in her town on the 23rd... But she has this as her profile picture- displayed, centrally. It may only be for her- she's excited for this- I know she has interest. That's cool. I can go with that- but this is the first number I have seen, and I watch her, like a hawk. I hate to say it. So pathetic- but nobody else comes close to her, so far, that I have met. Nobody I felt that connection with.

And more pictures available to be seen, displaying her body, which I like, of course. Something about her skin.
She was the first time I understood why a woman might wear a mask. Beautiful. Hard to contain.

Of course there was more. And she's also crazy- too. Not necessarily crazy... but crazy. I call myself crazy. I'm probably crazy in some more genuine ways than her, though. As in... dysfunctional. I don't know, though. Crazy, mad.

But I don't know what to make of this.

Maybe I just taught her, or something. Maybe it's hers now. I don't own 23.

Nails. Last Nine Inch Nails concert I saw was on her birthday, years ago.

And I have to admit I thought I was Jesus again. And she- Mary.

I'm in a schizophrenic hell universe, but not for long, because of time vortex, voom?

As children, we are allowed to explore the world of fantasy, and how certain aspects of life is connected to other parts of life...

As we grow up, we loose our sense of inquiring the connections that all things have, due to expectations that our culture and society beam into our minds during every waking moment.

Perhaps it is more worthwhile to think as a child, while maintaining the wisdom of a grown adult.

I would have to say thus far that 2012 has been a very interesting year with regards to my personal life, albeit in a miserable and excruciating way. In getting my labs back regarding my bout with Sepsis, I was informed that I had been infected with the heliobacterium Pylori. Known officially as Heliobacterium Pylori (makes sense doesn't it?), it lives in the stomach and is believed to be responsible for virtually all stomach ulcers.

It is pretty much a Third World bug that infects people-almost always-in adolescence. Mainly human to human through food preperation and/or poor hygeine it is rooted in human fecal matter...yep, it comes from human shit. In my case I probably caught in Israel, or Southern Lebanon, in my first couple of years in the army. I caught dysentery twice, cholera once and toxic shock syndrome from a sore under my arm from the Toyota seatbelt I used as a sling for my rifle (gosh I miss that Galil SAR. Why we switched to M16s I will never understand aside from our great deal from Uncle Toucan Fucken Sam. Thank G-D those days are ending now that we are back with an Israeli rifle, the TAR21, aka Tavor). Let us just say that sanitation both in my battalion's main camp at the time, Machaneh 80 (Camp 80), a former Jordanian Arab Legion camp in the Jordan Valley. As bad as it was though, it was asses and elbows better than most anything in Lebanon, gosh what a shit hole (sorry Arzi but the South WAS, this was less than 6 years after that country's latest civil war had begun, destroying the nation's negligible infrastrure.

Pylori rarely manifests at all, merely existing in symbiosis with its human host. For unknown reasons a tiny percentage of infected people will develop ulcers and other gastrointestinal disturbances. Those that do will do so deeply. I did not manifest but ignorantly took my physician's advice and began a 14 day regimen of Prevacid, a 3-in-1 protocol consisting of an antacid and 2 antibiotics.

One of the antibiotics in Prevacid is Amoxycillin. This is relevant because Amoxycillin is related to Penicillin, a medication that almost killed me before my alleegy to it was diagnosed (an incident that took place in the New Jersey State Prison System (NJ Dept of Corrections) as I was transiting the state reception system but alas, that interesting story is best left until I resume my Life Story entries). Needless to say Amoxycillin and I were less than happy together.

My first 3 days on Prevacid were hellish. Because of the acid reflux caused by the attack on Pylori I had, if you can somehow imagine it, hiccups that-upon reaching the top of my throat- metamorphisised into screaming dry heaves. The result was a 9 to 12 hour bout with my face hanging in the toilet. On the third day I threw in the towel and discontinued the Prevacid.

When it rains it pours...

Xmas in the Philippines is quite an event in most places, just not here on Mindanao. I live in the central portion of the east coast and while we have no Muslims, less than 3,000 in our five province region, we have a whole lot of Animists and a whole lot of Maoists. Even the Catholics and the main Protestant denominations are infested with Liberation Theology.

My inlaws don't do the tree thing though my father in law is a very spiritual man. Indeed, when I met him, he was on a pilgimage to Jerusalem. The biggest difference on Xmas, or rather Xmas Season, is that homemade foods are on sale and I love cheese ice cream, sort of like a cheesecake flavour. Filipinos are like most SE Asians and can't stomach dairy products, the "cheese" commonly available is oil based artificial nonsense.I buy Aussie cheddar at Swiss Market, the big expat market in Davao City, but, not much else is available. During Xmas Season however, a Tsinoy (Filipino of Chinese descent) woman down the road gets goat milk from yours truly, and makes many gallons of cheese icecream.

Asians like weird flavours. The preferred dessert here is Halo Halo (pronounced Hollow-Hollow). A parfait glass is filled with shaved ice, red beans, yellow corn kernals, sweet syrup, cubes of fluorescent coloured Jello, scoop of ice cream, and whipped cream on top. They love that vile shit! The most popular icecream flavour is Ube (oo-bay), a violet coloured mess. Ubes are a native tuber, akin to sweet potato and if sweet potato is your thing, go for it

I gave myself a bit of a treat though, some Snickers, three bars cost a days wage for most labourers here. For "dessert" though, I will take my last two bottles of methadone instead of morphine. Morphine has me dosing every 8 hours with a lot of peaks and valleys. Methadone is one gulp and I'm good for 36 hours. I dose 360 mgs of Instant Release morphine and try to limit two dosages, 360 in the morning, at daybreak, and 360 at 3PM to 4PM, for the second dose, making it every 12 hours instead of the 6 to 8 that most do. Each bottle of methadone is 220mg of cherry methadose, a horrible concentrate that tastes poisonous, even when diluted with water. The 440 mgs two bottles offer will keep me straight until 8AM, Tuesday, December 27th. Cheers!

In s couple of days the Jewish Holiday of Chanukkah (chah-Noo-kah) will once again be upon us and this year it falls within the same days as Western Xmas. The Jewish Calendar, like most, is Lunar, while the Western Calendar is based upon the sun. Therefore, each year, Chanukkah slides slong the Western Calendar, some years beginning in November.

Americans have a disgusting custom of giving gifts on the holiday. Some give a different gift each night while others, come all the way out of the closet, and put them under a "Hannukah Bush," with even the name of the holiday changed for Western sensibilities. If you listen to such dullards they will tell you that "Hannukah" [sic] is the "Festival of Lights" and that it celebrates /G-D's love, or some such dunderhead nonsense. So, what DOES Chanukkah commemorate?

After Alexander the Great died in India his top generals split the empire amomgst themselves, with two, P'tolemy and Seleucid, consolidating all the pie pieces into two empires. The Seleucid capital was in what is today Syria. The P'tolemaic capital was in what is today Egypt. Their border, naturally, was what is today Israel, the Jews were not conquered so as to serve as a natural buffer between those two Leviathans. In power struggles between the two empires they ran roughshod over Judean (Jewish) sovereignity. Eventually, the Seleucids pushed the P'tolemaic Empire back a tad bit and so it was the Seleucid Empire exerting its influence over Judea, nominally a still sovereign nation.

To make a long story short (yes, it IS possible with Rachamim), the Selecid Emperor, Antiochus Epiphanes IV conquered Judea. As any Greek would, Antiochus wanted to "enlighten" the backwards, tribal Jews and their closed society. As always, there were Uncle Toms amongst the Jewish People, looking outward with baited breath and imagining how much better life could be if only Jews joined the majority. It was these Jews, the Hellenists, who cozied up to the occupying Greeks. These house nig*ers were allowed to rule over us, and in graduated steps they worked to obliterate what was even then, an extremely ancient culture.

Eventually, the collabarators announced that the Temple in Jerusalem would henceforth become a Greek pagan temple devoted to Apollo. Moreover, an altar would be placed in every community down to the tiniest village, and sacrifices would be made daily to Antiochus and to the Greek pantheon. Of course in the days before mass communication these edicts had to be disseminated personaly by a representative of the "Government." Arriving in communities, the mid ranking official, backed by a strong contingent of Greco-Syrian soldiers, would unload a portable altar, order village craftsmen to copy its schematic, then, with the entire community in the village plaza, the men would be forced to swear allegiance to the Seleucids and to make a sacrifice to the Greek pantheon.

Arriving in the hill village of Modi'in (Moe-d'een), in-ironically- what is today the "West Bank," the representative unloaded the altar, soldiers gathered the entire village in the plaza. Under arms the representative ordered the men to come forward and make the sacrifice. Noone was willing, but under threats of violence, one man finally stepped forward and bowed. He told the Greek representative that he would make the sacrifice. Very quickly, an elderly man stepped forward in ftont of the kneeling villager and lopped his head off with a scimtar. As the head rolled the men in the village attacked the shocked Greeks and killed all of them.

The man who lopped off the willing collabarator was named Matityahu, and though we traditionally use our father's first names as our surnames, he was everafter known by the surname "Maccabi" (Mahk-ah-bee), meaning "mallet," or "hammer." He led the village except for the most elderly, up into the hills and canyons.

I will stop here and continue in my next entry...

It can be a mindbender flying into New York City from the Philippines. It has been a long held observation of mine that people are the most polite when everybody openly carries weaponry. For example, you will very rarely see or hear voices raised on Mindanao. If someone has a real problem with you it is usually addressed by two men riding tandem on the same motorcycle, the man on the rear being the one pointing a 45 at your face. They do send warnings in text messages but they generally are meant to terrorise you and yours because once you get that text an attack is all but guaranteed.

In New York, on the other hand, even bus drivers will call you a motherfucker if you take too long getting on and off. Loud arguing is so common place as to be boring to onlookers and fistfights are also commonplace over such trivial issues as cueing up to order takeaway. There was a time when I allowed myself to be sucked into stupid fights. All that changed on a visit here in 2009.

A Puerto Rican man was walking outside Madison Square Garden in Midtown, Manhattan one morning on his way to work. By chance he brushed up against a young blackman walking in the opposite direction. Words were exchanged and the black man pulled out a small pocketknife and quickly stabbed the Puerto Rican man to death.

Because it happened in Midtown the incident was deemed newsworthy enough so that the media pressure compelled the police to launch a manhunt. Three days later a black woman in Philadelphia, two hours south of New York, phoned police saying that her ex-boyfriend had shown up at her door unexpectedly and in great distress. By chance she had seen a newscast in which the crime was discussed and a CCTV image of her ex was used as the backdrop. Convincing the man that she needed to go to a neighbourhood grocery she instead phoned the police.

As police moved into position around the young woman's rowhouse they heard a loud report from a pistol. The young man had offed himself, compounding the tragedy that he himself caused.

Well, that incident set me to thinking about my own aggressive behavior. I promised myself that I would act as I did when I manned, and later commanded IDF Checkpoints. We always had provacateurs who played for the media, so called "Activists" who, hoping to provoke violent responses, often went so far as to spit in our faces. Of course when we arrested them and drove away from the cameras they were almost always peeing on themselves, but that is neither here nor there.

To date I have managed to control myself to a very high degree. One exception was the day my father died. I received the phone call at around 8AM, and per Jewish Law his burial was scheduled for 4PM at the Syrian Jewish Cemetery in Deal, New Jersey. I was sitting on a bench outside Patterson Houses, a project on Willis Avenue here in the South Bronx, as I waited for a couple of my brothers to pick me up.

As I sat on the bench, deep in thought, a black Housing employee, a porter, sprayed me with water from a garden hose, drenching a 900 Dollar Kenneth Cole suit. As I turned around I saw him laughing almost to the point of collapse with a fellow porter. I didnt want to miss my father's burial so I just stared so as to remember his face. After making my brothers wait as I put on another suit, we went to New Jersey.

The following Monday, six days later, I was in jeans and a teeshirt, basically unrecognisable from the day of the burial. I waited down the block from the Patterson Houses employee entrance and watched the asshole leave. I tailed him and by Wednesday I knew where he lived, who lived with him but needed a few days more to get his after work routine down pat. Most people are oblivious, keeping to static routines and in doing so make themselves extremely vulnerable.

As to what followed, Im not sure as to the Statute of Limitations and therefore will leave that dangling in the air. I will admit that I made a huge faux paux by personalising my response instead of maintaining detached objectivity, but I had unresolved issues with my father and used that imbecile as a scapegoat.

My rule now is, as long as me and mine are not in imminent danger, I wont even react, with the sole exception being anyone challenging me and mine in and around my home because if you allow even a bit of disrespect I have learned that aggressors will continuously up the ante. An example: I was walking with Lovely on the beach by her home and some guys in their early 20s made some rude comments. Anywhere else and I reckon I would laugh. However, near her home I have to maintain boundries or maybe next time they touch her, or start sniffing around her home. I pistol whipped bigmouth and the other two actually ran.

To show I really have changed though, yesterday I was in CVS, a chain pharmacy, waiting online to make a purchase. There were two lines. I was last on mine, with two customers in front of me. On the second line, a big muscle bound black guy was behind a lone customer. A third register opened and the cashier announced next on line. I stepped over and of course, as is a given, the black man began whining:

Black: Yo, I suppose you just didn't see me standing here...

Rachamim: I saw you but I also saw that you are next on line... but if you would like to go in front of me, please, by all means...

B: Nah, you just gonna step up like I dont exist right? I aint even here right?

R: I already offered to let you go

B: (repeats his mantra ad naseum)

R: Whatever, leave me the fuck alone (said in the same calm monotone that I always use in such exchanges)

B: What mothafucka?!? What you do if I step to you and knock you the fuck out?!?

R: (in monotone) I wouldnt do a thing but call the police and sue CVS so by all means, do it

B: What????!!!??? Call the fucken po-leees?!? ( incredulously)

(onlookers giggling)

R: Absolutely, I wont raise a finger, I could always use more money so please do it (black remained shocked, not saying anything, I turned around and completed my purchase)

I will admit that I could not leave well enough alone and as I exited the store I cut between him-still waiting-and the customer in front of him as if to provoke him. I also would not have allowed him to touch me but it was a major improvement in how I handle such situations. I am personally disgusted with men who provoke fights with people much smaller. I am 5'8", he was roughly 6'4" & bulked up...I love fighting such assholes but as I get older I hope that I am getting wiser.

So today was a little rough! 8( Mom woke me up at like 3am this morning after I was finally in sleepy town. She started her same shit that always gets us into fights and wow was it a fight. We proceeded to yell around the house, take cig breaks and then pick it back till about 5 am. I was so tired by the time 8 o clock came around I just had to say screw the apt. which of course I regret now but hey its not like I cant make another one.

Despite the triggering wake up this morning and desires to get mega fucked up, I stayed on my game.
Withdrawals suck so don't do drugs kids!

Time sober almost 2 days!!! :D

Reallllly feeling it this time, and I am getting some Mushies in two days and maybe by the love of god the dope sickness will be away within a week and I can partake in some awesome adventures in psychedelia. might not be a super good idea this soon but I am wanting to go on a trip so made I cant see straight. If my set and setting isn't good though I will wait till it is

Peace and !!!!

Ah, heroin blinds us to the realities of our lives. If we took off those blinkers and saw what our lives were for what they really and truly are, how would we be effected? Would our lives be so unbearable that we'd finally pull the trigger and end this misery that is our daily existence? So many addicts I know think they're in love, but they're in a symbiotic relationship. They use each other. It's pathetic, really, it is. I've called it so many times and yet those opiate blinkers are on and they're on tight. I just want to be like, "Dude, you're being used!" so loud that they can't ignore it. You're being sucked dry. Under the guise of love or a relationship. It's not my bed, however.

I'm blind to certain things myself. I'm getting angrier and angrier. All of these people who are supposedly my friends are just using me for drugs or money or even as a warm body -- companionship, I guess, commiseration -- I just don't have the heart to tell the dudes you're being used harder than the bathrooms at Grand Central Station. Who am I to burst their bubble? I would like to see what happens when everything comes to light, though. Then they'll need some sort of ear and I won't be there.

Your house of cards is dwindling, kid, and the foundation has never been there. You got your tiny bit of satisfaction but really the relationship is no more than a whore and a john at the root. So what if the surface looks better than that? Both of you seem to be okay with the deal, though. I personally couldn't fucking use another human being like that in good conscience though. But, what was it they said about heroin making you soulless and greedy? Fuck you, man. I don't need that shit.

I hope you're fucking happy now because you're in for a world of hurt later, kid...

You're also completely oblivious about yourself and think way too highly about yourself. You're fucking scum, dude, you really are. I wouldn't hurt you though, because you seem to be in enough pain as it is. You certainly don't need anymore pain... C'est la vie, kid, c'est la vie.

Just to forewarn you these journal entries get more and more intense so if you're light hearted you probably don't want to read any further. -Erika



7/3/2008

Laughing doesn't exist in my world of despair. I'm lonely. Hungry for love. Lately the full bottle of sleeping pills are taunting me like an apple in Eden. I want to swallow them all. I've been seeing things. Like, visual hallucinations. I frequently see cats, but mostly demons. This was supposed to be a song, but I'm too depressed for inspiration. I know I sound like an over dramatic, angsty teenager, but I feel sick mentally. I still want to die, but I can't bring myself to do it...yet. I wish lightning would just strike me. Then I'd be dead and content. Will this circle ever end? I'm manic or I'm depressed. xx



8/10/2008

Things I though I freed my mind of for eternity are suddenly reappearing. What's supposed to be deemed bad has become, in my mind, ideal. The bad is returning. xx



10/12/2008

It's been a few months since I've last written. I've been too depressed. Nothing good has happened. That bad that I wrote of DID return. With a couple more suicide attempts under my belt I am feeling a little better in recent weeks. I totalled another car. I feel as if I've been cursed. I had to drop all my classes because of my mood instability and move back in with my mom. Things are rough, but I am managing to hold myself together pretty well. Right now I feel calm. Partly due to the Klonopin, I assume. xx



10/13/2008

Things are very stressful right now. My mom spent all her money and now she's broke. We have a ton of things to pay for (bills, cars, doctors, ect). I'm bored. My everyday routine is getting really old and I miss going to school. I feel as if I'm about to crack again. I can never sleep...ever. It's impossible. I'm probably going to die at a very young age due to lack of sleep. I NEED to quit smoking! It's killing me, but what isn't? I'm just dying faster than anyone my age and I'm okay with that. It'd be so much easier to be dead. I am a cursed soul! I watch these petty shows like 'Gossip Girl' and 'The OC' and I must say, their "problems" are so stupid. I would trade in a second. Why are things so fucked? I don't get it! Ugh! I just want to do something with my life, but I probably never will. Everything sucks! xx



10/14/2008

This not being able to sleep shit is getting so old. It's ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous. I don't need sleep...ever. But I want it...badly. Ugh! I've had the urge to cut myself today and I'm not sure why. I've controlled myself though thankfully. But having nothing to do at night will probably lead to self destruction. I have nothing to do. Maybe it's boredom. I feel like my brain is melting away. I'm getting dumb. Usually, I'm a bright person, but not going to school has to be bad for me. And I am lonely. Not having a car means I rarely see my friends. And it's looking like I won't be getting another car anytime soon because my mom is completely broke. Things are not good. xx



10/22/2008

The voices today: "Now that we've got a deal. Have we got a deal or what? The deity! The deity! It's just a temporary day."

I have been having a crappy few days. I've been very low mood wise for the past, let's say, 3 days. I have broken everything that I'm supposed to stick with, which lead to more idle time for my depression. I gave in and cut myself in the shower last night. It felt so good, but I know it's unhealthy. I'll try to do it less like I have been doing.



11/10/2008

It's so easy to slide that razor blade against my skin again and again. So much easier than a knife. The blood runs down my arm and seeps through my sweatshirt. It feels so good. It makes me feel alive again. The slightest touch of the sharp razor draws blood. I never want to stop bleeding. It makes me forget all the mental pain, the voices in my head. Drip, drip, drip. Ah, the relief it brings me. Better than drugs. Better than life itself. Cutting is almighty to me right now. I think I'm addicted. I keep it from everyone, but not because I'm ashamed. I'm quite proud of the scars all up and down my arm. It brings me a sick pleasure that I can achieve in no other way. You could say I'm infatuated with it. PS don't tell. xx



11/11/2008

The voices today: "We've got to clean this mess up. It's become such a mess. Erika, life cannot sustain itself in such a mess. Please clean up."

The farmers are right. I'm making a huge mess of things just because I'm manic and think the only solution is to slash my arm to pieces. I HATE the farmers, but they're right. I need to clean up this mess and the addiction I've created for myself of cutting my wrists. This bullshit can't go on any longer. Things are very strange. I'm happy (hyper), but depressed at the same time. I have a ton of energy. I think this is a potentially dangerous situation because I actually have the energy to hurt myself. I'm a threat to myself. xx

Just so you know I have thousands of journal entries, but I can't sit here and type that many so for now I'm just picking a handful. -Erika



1/31/08

Wow! It's almost been a year since I last wrote. A lot has changed. Some for the worse. My parents are currently getting a divorce and it's taking a toll on everyone's emotions. It's not good at all. Apparently my father is seeing someone else or something, but I hardly ever see him so I'm not sure what's going on except everything is a complete mess. I had been taking a combo of 1200 mgs of Lithium, 300 mgs of Wellbutrin, 100 mgs of Zoloft, and 200 mgs of Lamictal. Well, I was getting really sick of taking it. I wanted to feel alive again. So I stopped taking all of it except the Wellbutrin. I now feel on the verge of a major breakdown. I'm just so irritable and sad...happy, suicidal, homicidal, and hyper. All at once. I wish I had an escape. I stopped doing drugs. I'll drink at parties or maybe smoke some pot occasionally, but no more opiates, no more blow, no more pills. This is an improvement in my life. I'm actually really proud of myself. xx



2/24/08

I fucking hate lithium! I'm not taking it ever, ever again! I don't care. It makes me so numb, I can't think, I can't write, I can't do music. I'm essentially dead on lithium. They keep telling me to take it and I say I am, but I'm not. I won't! I refuse. It makes my face breakout so bad too. I really need to lose weight asap. The fucking lithium is making me pack on the pounds. It's getting disgusting. Plus, my mom is skinnier than me. Ugh! I suck so hard! xx



2/26/2008

I want a sun that never sets

A flower that never dies

I want a love that never ends. xx



3/3/2008

Yeah, so a lot of things just aren't working out for me. I can't sleep at all. I'm all high strung and what the doctors like to call "manic." For example, I did all my homework by 5pm, went to work, closed by 8pm. I don't think the abilify is working. I got them to take me off lithium and Lamictal all together. I stopped taking Klonopin as well. Actually, the Klonopin helped me sleep, but I over did it like I do everything. I always take it to the next extreme. ALWAYS. xx



6/4/2008

I hate myself. I want to die. I've been seriously contemplating death for awhile now, but I'm too scared to tell anyone. I just feel this void in my life. Like good things are coming in the future, but it's not convincing me otherwise. I guess I'm weak and stupid, but I'm very curious what's after death. I think I'll find out soon. I hear noises all the time now. SCREAMING! SCREAMS! I wish I had someone to tell these things to, but I don't because I'm alone. xx



6/5/2008

I don't know what was wrong with me last night. It was so weird. I felt drunk, but I wasn't. xx

I decided to incorporate my journal entries dating back to 2006 in my book. It may be "filler," but it holds more truth than anything else I've written. It's the complete raw truth. -Erika

p.s. names have been changed to nondescript pronouns for the most part.



9/25/06

He od'ed on Valium the day after his birthday, September 14th. I mean he "ate bad sushi." Anyways, off to rehab he went on Saturday night. He went into rehab in complete hysterics and now he is the star patient. I'm really glad he's seeking help. It will save his life in the long run. I miss him so much though! And I'm really depressed right now. My psychiatrist switched me from Prozac to Zoloft because I was suicidal on the Prozac, I continued to cut my wrists which is NOT good at all. Now I am totally manic. I have these really high highs, but majorly low lows. Right now I'm at a low. It seems like there's nowhere between the highs and the lows. FUCK! I'm 16! Why do I have so much shit going on in my life?! I had to go to the OBGYN to get tested for STDs today even though I've only ever slept with one person. God damnit! I wish I had some sort of escape! Instant gratification. I guess life just doesn't work that way...unless you kill yourself or take drugs. There is NO instant escape. I'm starting to realize I'm stuck in this life practically alone. Sure I have my therapist, my mom (who just gets stressed out), and him(who has his own issues). I have no one that can just hold me in their arms when I'm feeling down. I'm just alone. I isolate myself in some ways...okay...a lot of ways, but it also feels like people isolate me. I just want to be normal. I want him to come back and be the normal, compassionate, ambitious boy I fell in love with. I want to be normal at my new school, but I can't control my mania so everyone just thinks I'm nuts. I want a father who actually knows I exist. I want my friends to understand. I want my mom to stop tweaking out everytime I peep a word. I just want everything to be fucking normal! Is that too much to ask? I mean, GOD DAMN! Maybe if my family wasn't such a fucking mess I would be semi-sane. Get me out of here! NOW! xx



9/26/2006

I know what it feels like to feel empty now. I feel as if my whole body is completely numb and made of tin. I don't know why I feel this way. I miss him so much. He doesn't get out of rehab for another 3 months. He's only been gone for a little more than a week, but I miss him deeply. I wish he could just hold my hand right now and tell me everything's going to be okay. I can't go through life like this. Why can't I be normal? Why can't everything be a fairy tale? Why did I have to fall in love so early? What did I do to deserve such pain? All the fucking time! I wouldn't give him up for the world, but I do miss him like crazy and not being able to see him makes me really sad. At least he's okay so someday he will be a good husband and father to whoever he ends up with. Whether it be me or someone else. It doesn't matter. I will always love him. It will never change. Dead or alive! xx



10/20/2006

I feel so weird lately. My emotions are completely fucked up. I'm having completely manic breakdowns. It's like a reverse panic attack. When I have panic attacks it feels like I'm being attacked by tigers, but now I'm the tiger. I can't control my rage, my obnoxious euphoria or depression. I'm either going to kill myself or someone else. My shrink put me on this medicine that you gradually build up on. I think it's call Lamictal. She also dropped my Zoloft down by 50 mgs because she said it was making my mood swings worse. So now I have less Zoloft and a bipolar med that won't work for like 6 weeks. So basically I'm fucked. I want to be fixed now! I need a quick fix. For now at least! And I can't fucking sleep. I'm taking Xanax, Lunesta, and Roserum but I still can't sleep! I want Ambien. It actually works. AH! God damnit! Nothing is right! He's a god damn rehab, I hate my school, my school hates me, people hate me, I have 2 C's (one in spanish and one in math). The rest are A's, but I'm pissed about the C's because I've worked my ass off. I had one tough week because I was too depressed and I failed a test in math and spanish that I previously had A's in too. Oh well! Next quarter. Hopefully I'll be fixed because now I'm just NOT okay. Ahh! I can't stand it anymore! I can't handle any of this shit anymore! I need an escape...NOW! You don't have to be alone to be lonely. xx



2/2/2007

So you would think that people who smoke marijuana are lazy because they sit around, but their minds are working faster than our bodies could ever work. xx

Introduction:

Living Dead: A Girls Journey to Hell and Back

By: Erika Gloersen



She lay with her face submerged in the pillows when she realized she couldn’t breathe. Her screams were muffled and her tears absorbed. Would anyone ever notice the crippling pain she was in? It seemed as if there was no hope, no light. There was only eternal darkness. The drugs came heavy, the drugs came cheap, but she was still a prisoner of her own mind. Was it a prison she would ever escape or would she be stuck in the constricting chains of despair eternally? Forever night was the world which belonged to the girl with the empty soul. As she pushes the needle into her frail arm, yet another time. She wonders if the sun will ever rise. It seemed to be a neverending eclipse. How long must this façade go on and was it even worth it? Life was meaningless and empty. Why not end it now? Should she welcome that bottle of sleeping pills, which had been taunting her for months, into her hungry stomach?

Opium scented incense and the low, raspy voice of Lou Reed filled the room where she lie numb in a lithium induced state. She wants to feel again. The telephone rings, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she picks up a razorblade and cuts deep gashes into her translucent, beautiful, but scarred wrist. As the blood flows from her arm onto the bathroom floor a flood of relief overcomes her. Alas, contentment. She assumed she was alive. She saw the blood, felt the pain. Yet she felt dead as ever. Could she go on like this forever?

There was so much pain, loneliness, and misery. She had been prescribed almost every psychoactive drug in existence, but the monster of her depression was still devouring her, inside and out. Life seemed to be an ongoing battle against itself and she was definitely losing this round. She was rapidly beginning to realize that she was practically alone in this world and there was only one way out. This way would ensure that she would never feel again. Again, the bottle of pills seemed to gleam as they caught her eye. They had been tempting her for what felt like forever and like Eve she was about to take the forbidden fruit from the tree in Eden. It was the only way. She knew she had to do it. With little more thought she took the bottle in hand and swallowed a more than lethal amount of the drug. She laid down in the fetal position, tucking herself into her favorite blanket, waiting to die. She knew death was coming and couldn’t have been more ecstatic about the upcoming result. All those years of misery were finally going to over.

About thirty-six hours later she found herself in a white, fluorescent, and completely unfamiliar room where she was wearing what seemed to be a white gown. When she opened her eyes a little wider she noticed a man in a white coat looking down at her. She must be in heaven, she thought. When she opened her eyes even further she noticed the other people in what she now recognized as a hospital room, not heaven—her parents. She felt that life that she was ironically always dying to feel. Her morose was finally lifted. People did care and love her. How could she be so oblivious and selfish? She now started to realize that she had a lot of live for and thanks the God she previously thought nonexistent, for giving her another chance and the opportunity to live at last.



author's note: I wrote this many many years ago after my first suicide attempt when I was 15 years old, but I think it's a good intro. That's kind of when it all went downhill. The whole book's not depressing like this. There's wit, sarcasm, good times, and bad times.

thanks,

Erika

p.s. any recommendations would be greatly appreciated! xoxo

Cant sleep for anything tonight! its a tad after 2 am and I am wired big time. I don't see how people can even sleep lol. It turned out I did really good with my friend and she got plowed big time but I stayed strong even when asked to join. I just said "not tonight". Note to self thought : get some damn Melatonine. if I do somehow go to that apt tomorrow at 9am I am going to be dead tired.

Time Sober: just hit 1 day

I can really feel the sobriety setting in though and that worries me, I don't know How waking up tomorrow is going to feel and I am sure withdrawal is going to suck so bad. I can already feel the restlessness and massive cravings psychologically wish me luck!

Peace And !!!!

This is going to be fairly short, because I want to take the time to make a longer post, but currently don't have the time RIGHT now..but later tonight, I will

I had a disgusting relapse all summer long. During this relapse, there was lots of panhandling, breaking into homes, and selling all my scripts for my daily fix. It was AWFUL! Way worse than I was before the FIRST time I quit! So, this resulted in me going to "TREATMENT" or in-patient. It was great, truth be told.

That's about all for now. I miss my BL friends so much! Love you all

So I was supposed to start yesterday but well my last horrah turned into quite a big one indeed. Drank massively did opiates (H included) so this is going to be rough :/. However this is something I am doing for me so that gives me hope. I dont have any plans to quit the psychedelics at this point in time though, but i don't view them as bad anyways.

Learned today that my appointment with the GID specialist tomorrow is most likely not going to happen as I dont have a ride do to get there. This is a huge bummer but I cant let it effect my state of mind and I am just going to have to try again.

Possible triggers I've noted: Friends doing drug around me/ getting stressed/ social situations that I would normally use in/ and Gender issues sober might cause a relapse if I am not careful as they are hard to deal with on a sober mind.

I might be going to hang with a friend and I know alcohol will be ever present but I think I got this

Thats it for the day

Time sober: 18 hours

Peace And !!!!