Blogs

I ought to begin a blog, I cannot see why not.

Things aren't too bad, I can't really complain.

Today I sat and watched a blind man out the window for quite some time.

I was procrastinating.

I watched this man walk about, he was using a cane to feel where he was going.

This man looked to be about 30 years older than me, he looked to be about 55, but I am not sure. He was slim, his body-small.

His face was worn, he looked as if he hadn't had things very easy.

I found this man very interesting. It really put things into perspective.

I hadn't thought about how fortunate I was. I am bothered by some petty things some times, and for what, for nothing.

This man was really living.

This man really made me think.

I often take things for granted.

I shouldn't.

The things that sometimes seem to be a bother to me are in comparison to the nature of the true struggles of others totally irrelevant.

My problems are so small.

I am so tiny.

This man is a giant.

He's overcoming mountains.

I feel so weak.

I feel so small.

I see a man who appears to my eyes, small, but once I open my eyes, I see this man, so very tall.

This man is not small.

This man is so strong.

I should exercise some strength for a change.

Tomorrows already here.

It really crept up on me, I will try to make something of it.

I will try not to be so weak.

I am so weak.

I have been so blind.

I need to open my eyes.

I need to begin to see clearly.

I need open my eyes to all that is around me, such a sin it is to be so blind with working sight.

I will try my best, then I will try some more, I won't give up, I will succeed.

I hope things get better.

I feel crushed inside. The visual i get is a hot empty soda can thrust into a vat of liquid nitrogen.
Crunch.

Imploded.

Things. Feel. Wrong.

I've returned to a place of doubt. I'm going through the motions of crawling through the day and still i stumble; shrink a bit more and start moving forward with more distance to cover than before.

My eating disorder has returned. It is different this time. Birthed from the depths of panic, despair and uncertainty. I don't deserve to eat, so i fill the void with capsaicin. It regulates my blood pressure and the sickening burn feels more cleansing than any other forms of self-punishment i could mete.

We've been together for more than eight years...Eight of the worst and best years of my life. He says he is unhappy, but isn't sure it is with me. Because he is unhappy, he expressed his doubts about our future...the future i can't envision happening without him in it. He is my best friend. Our souls are intertwined...but the doubt is ripping us apart and i'm feeling so much less than whole.

The adderall and capsaicin fill the void. I live in fear that his doubts will turn to rage again.

He hurt me!

wounded inside from his words and outside from the rage, i couldn't run.
Couldn't leave.
Couldn't feel.

I've been broken for weeks.

There is so little left, i've almost disappeared.

Noone has noticed. No one ever does. I suppose no one ever will. I want to disappear, but i don't wish it. A sliver of hope remains. I need to hide it somewhere safe.

This is as good a place as any.

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just a random thought,idea of a title you could say, here i am playing in the ball pit at mc donalds when this dude came wearing his fancy mc pants brining me breakfast then i wake up and it was all a dream.
day ???#
no idea what to expect anymore, just keep trucking i reckon, it's me flying solo on this journey to mars. having a hard time keeping all of this shit down, i guess its the determination to prove others how fucking wrong they are in judging me/my outcomes.
yea theres periods in my life where even i don't know whats going to happen to me within the next minute,hour,day,etc.. i try not to think that far ahead or i'll lose my mind. the past few days have been not so great, my 'ex'boss and i got into it about how much he owed me $ for working so i said to fuck with him, and we work on the same job site so makes the shit alot harder to deal with.
after today i'm headed back downtown bham skidrow to try and make another dollar to survive becuase fuck bein in the country when u aint really have no job or no money or nothing. so off off and away i go, we shall see where the day leads me.

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so i thought sleeping in my car was a good thing at first, until i decided to go park down a road that was private property. i fixed up my bed, and got ready for the night and shut my eyes, the next thing i know 2 cops pulled up shining their lights in my car, so i knew i was fucked. they got my out of the car and asked what i was doing, and i told them that i was camping out n my car, they told me that it was private proiperty etcetc, then they asked to search the car, i didnt think i had anything in my car so i told them sure go ahead, when they started i fucking forgot all about the rig i had hid back beneath my spare tire, and lord behold they fold that shit n took me to jail for paraphernalia, and towed my fucking car which cost $95 to get the shit out of impound.
had a sign bond, so i didnt have to sit in jail. so after i signed some papers they told me to kick rocks, and kick rocks i did. i had no cigarettes but had a few $, i'm way on the other side of this country ass town, and no store is open passed midnight, so i walked and walked and fucking walked till i found a chevron 24/7 and bought a pack of cigarettes for fucking $5 a pack, i didnt care i wanted one so bad. called my sister and told her what had happpend and she told me well, sucks to be you. later she called back and said i could sleep in a spider infested airstream from the 70's for the night, so i walked almost 5 miles to her house, its 3am now, and i get there. go in and crash. wake up at 8:30am and WALK to fucking work, luckly it wasn't 'that' far away but still it was over 3 miles. shit sucked, but i made it, and i worked hard all day. got a bid approved to build a pet memorial flower bed thing and the lady im doing it for took me to get my car out of impound. thank god, so now i have my car again. my brother inlaw said i could stay at the airstream 1 more night, so going to head back there around 8pm tonite, its 6pm now so got a few hours, took my last lt 10, and afew ativan, just to fuckin relax and relax i am. here i am sitting at mc donalds typing this, somethings gotta change, and quick.

Trying to pass the time is getting harder and harder. My life is pretty much the same everyday. Wake up pop my pills, smoke a joint, do the shit i need to get done that day then smoke weed and take benzos and opiates with my seroquel until i pass out. When the one thing you have to look forward to in your day is your first shot of morphine or hydromorphone ya know your life is fucked 8(

My moods have been going up and down alot but the clonazepam, wellbutrin, lamotrigine and seroquel I'm on seem to keep the worst of it at bay usually. Enough meds for ya? . I wish i didn't have bipolar to deal with but i have to accept that I'm going to have to deal with it my whole life. It's a depressing thought that I'm going to have to take mood stabilizers and maybe anti-psychotics my whole life but it's no different then someone with high BP taking their meds. Thankfully i haven't inherited the high blood pressure that runs on both sides of my family. I did get the mental illness and addiction traits so that's quite enough

Part of me wants to go clean and i have been slacking off on the IVing as of late. The other part of me wants to load up a syringe with hydromorphone and cocaine and do a proper speedball. Part of me wants to say fuckit and do it all the other doesn't want to give into it. Be a good boy and stay on my meds and not get fucked up or go off them and start doing coke again and drinking alot.

But I always stop and start over or get distracted. I've been off of opiates for around 2 weeks now. I told my therapist everything about my history of drug use and abuse. He wasn't exactly shocked, but I could tell he was worried about the state of my mind and how suicidal I am. This is weird because I like the sense of being worried about, but I know it's artificial and I don't want people to worry about me. What the fuck, right?

It's kind of like with heroin. Heroin tells me everything in my life is fine and I'm a rockstar and I'm doing what needs to be done, but really I'm mostly sleeping during the day and nodded out in front of this computer at night. If I do decide to go out, I have to be high as shit or at least going to buy drugs, which, for me, is a high in itself. The chase of the drugs for me is almost as good as using the drugs.

I love that shit so much. Scoring. I know there's bullshit that comes with it, but it's like an adventure to me. I live for adventures and experiences of all sorts. I don't have too much shame about getting arrested, using heroin, tripping on LSD or any of those "drug user" stigmas as I am very open with it to almost everyone in my life except for my brother. He's the only one I try to hide my use from and I don't know why. I guess I don't want him to be ashamed of his sister and what she's become, especially since he has no mother or father. He's 23 years old physically, but emotionally and intellectually he's around 14 or 15, possibly less. I've become almost a mother figure to him and I don't want to ruin that for him and have him lose another mother figure. I personally never had a true mother or father figure emotionally nor authoritatively because, when I turned around 15, no one could tell me what to do. I just did whatever the fuck I wanted without much resistance from my parents. I was never "grounded" or punished in any way. My parents were in huge denial about my drug use and up till I was about 15, my grades in school reflected a good student with lots of potential. But I felt stupid and isolated and scared and antisocial and wasn't truly accepted by my peers save for a few close friends not at my school.

It was this emotional isolation and extreme shyness and low self-esteem that make me seek other states of mind and being. There were also a few traumas I suffered during this period that could have attributed to my stereotypically teenage rebellious response to adults and authority, but that's besides the point. I didn't care to try and make friends or socialize outside of the few friends I'd had. I still don't really make too many friends outside of drug buddies and contacts. It's not a terribly bad thing, because sometimes these people become good friends, but we can't help but use when we're around these people, so if either of us wish to get clean, it would be the end of the friendship/contact.

I'm looking for work but I don't seem to be finding anything. I'm probably not looking hard enough or letting my pride get in the way with certain things. I sabotaged myself because I'd found a job in around December (although who knows if I would have been kept past the Christmas season) and just stopped going once again. And once again I self-sabotaged my school work and would get an A in one class and an F or WU in another class for two semesters in a row. So now there are no options for me but to find work instead of relying on my brother and girlfriend. Shit sucks. I suck as a person. I am not present. I might as well not be here. Anything little scam I can pull off or drug-related thing I can do I get really excited about and I am waiting and waiting to relapse as soon as I can.

It's so stupid to throw all of this away but I feel like I will. Currently, I'm pretty fucking stoned. Shit, so that's about it...

I don't know what the fuck to think or say or do.

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I keep finding myself here, and every time I always end up writing about how I keep finding myself here.
I don't know why I keep coming. I never wanna leave though once I'm here.

An empty brain, stupid, sporadic, non-linear, ugly, depraved, but more or less without a coherent thought.
I try to avoid cliches and literary melodrama but they feel so profound on dope. So I'm going to abandon restraint.

I've experienced heaven, it's a lot like this: my brain and body feel spectacular. Heaven is so much more colorful and vivid though. There are people too. People who like me for me, who aren't rundown, people who are intelligent. The architecture in heaven is much better too. Ionian columns laced with vines or illuminated warehouse rafters tend to be the norm. There's warmth in heaven, "love", intellect building in complexity and meaning, until it comes to a point. Disolving and rebuilding. Patterns. Connectivity.

I've experience hell too, it's a lot like this: my brain and body although rundown and dirty and tired are occasionally blessed with interludes of feelings of rapturous relief and euphoria. Much like this. People don't like me though. They don't know me. I appear to them as a transient idiot trashy junkie, and while I may prove myself useful (and god do i get used) they despise me and judge me. There is no architecture. A run down toolshed, a bridge, a matress, poverty and graffiti. There is no warmth, no love, ignorance and violence. Shame, euphoria, and a shaky numbness are the only states of mind.

Where I am now though; this is purgatory. My body and brain feel spectacular. It's wasted though. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. People here tolerate me. I have one person here who loves me, but he's locked in his room. Experiencing the same thing I am. We exchange messages on Facebook and meet only to do more drugs. It's a small apartment. Filthy. Cups filled with cigarette ashes all over. Scum and dirt and food everywhere. It doesn't matter though, it's just a small apartment. Nothing interesting. My brain is empty. Pornography and Bluelight are my main staples. Tomorrow everytime I close my eyes I'll see the pretty, young, blonde, shamed and dishonered. Two penises in her, ejaculate in her face and mouth. She cracks very briefly and I can see the pain in her eyes. This will be burned on my eyelids for days.

Wasted night, painful day tomorrow.
Heaven and hell come and go, outside of my control. Inevitable.
This purgatory though, I intentionally come here. I walk off the path and come here to waste my mind and waste my time.

I'm getting a better idea of why.
Unless it's heaven, or hell, or purgatory I feel nothing.
I can't function on earth.
Having encountered the other planes, earth is a silly dull place.
I don't hate it, it is what it is, but i belong above it or below it or hovering over the ground.

All this celestial travel isn't practical though, I need to spend some good quality time here. Doing human things. Working, loving, appreciating, thinking, bettering. But how?

How do I make myself want life?



Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go smoke some more stimulants in a dirty stoner bathroom, fry my mind with degradation and sex and then experience the emptiness. I need some real life friends or some shit

met her on bluelight.
five years older than me, kind of crazy, kind of smart, sexy as hell.

she asked for a shot of meth, she couldn't hit herself and hadn't shot in a year.
i made our shot, asked her to put music on.

she put on tom petty, held her soft, pale, arm straight across my lap.
registered. pushed the plunger down, watched her eyes get big, her skin flush, and she began to speak in the cutest voice and in that moment she was the most gorgeous creature i'd ever laid eyes on.

i injected myself, we talked frantically excitedly, and she asked me to kiss her.
and our lips were dry and i've never kissed a girl on meth. it's hard.
but it was the most beautiful kiss.
it was nothing sick and depraved like what usually would have happened on meth.
it was heartfelt and rapturous and when i was done i rushed and stared in to her eyes in awe of her beauty.

i love her.

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... is some other beginning's end. The line is cheesy as all fuck, but it is completely true.

As I've mentioned in a reply to animal_cookie's announcement that she's going back to school-- grats once again, by the way -- I've also recently decided to go back to school. I suspect that I'm a bit less along in the application/admissions process as she is, as I'm still compiling my applications package and figuring out the details of how each school handles applications.

But Dave, you're a professional in your field, working in an exciting young company at a critical time, and are actually earning a salary! A salary that will only continue to increase in time! Why on earth would you want to go back to school?

Well, it's been something that I've been turning over in my head for a while now, and I've wanted to put metaphorical pen to metaphorical paper in order to more closely examine my motivations. Yes, I'm working as a professional chemist, at a job where there is at least the semblance of research, with only a bachelor's degree in chemistry. That is, frankly, all but unheard of where I am. Due to a number of factors, including: dominance of engineering as a profession in virtually all technical fields, the increasing popularity of applied 'degrees', and the watering down of both admissions and undergrad programs (in order to increase admissions, to have enough tuition to stay afloat, due to the government's policy of incremental defunding of education); a bachelor's degree in science is considered to be equivalent to a 2-year applied technician's diploma in industry. In many cases, it is actually considered to be less attractive than a diploma, as fewer practical skills are taught, as there is still a focus on theory and research at the undergrad level.

Due to this, it took me a year to get the job that I currently have, and even then I was only able to find it because I was connected to the founder of the startup. And it was not a pleasant job to start. Poorly paid, with little to do, and what little there was to do could have been done by a high-school student. Not grad. Student. Still, I slogged along for a bit, and in time -- partly due to said founder leaving the company, and taking various invisible hierarchies and prejudices along -- the job improved somewhat. Late last year, I'd almost say that I was even working close to the level to which my education had prepared me: doing some self-directed research, experimental design and execution, and writing technical reports. They weren't ever going to see the light of day outside the company, much less be reviewed and published, but it was something.

But there have been philosophical issues with industry, that have bothered me from the start. Research is based, by and large, on a gift economy. I borrow use of so-and-so's spectrophotometer, and down the road they may ask to 'borrow' some of an esoteric compound that I used to use. Reciprocity is implied, but not necessarily expected. A big part of this is publication; people are paid nothing when they submit to a journal. They are giving away the information, putting it into the public domain-- albeit behind paywalls these days, but the principle is there. Why give it away? So that others can build on it. Simple as that. That is how research is able to progress.

Now, while the following may not be true of every situation in industry, it is certainly true as a broad-stroke generalization: industry is by and large parasitic on this gift economy. Businesses operate on the idea that any money spent needs to have a monetary return, else it is wasted. Since much of research involves failure, it is anathema to this principle. So rather than funding original research, most industrial outfits will take what academics have given to the public domain, tweak it just enough to be patentable, and then lock it up. Once locked, they'll squeeze as much utility out of the idea as possible, while spending as little as possible to develop the underlying concepts further. Any new developments are kept internal, locked away from other eyes that might use it, even if the application has nothing to do with what the company in question is doing. Knowing what advances that have been made during my tenure, and knowing that it'll never be published, makes me really wonder at what amazing things have been found in industry, but are rotting in some tech's lab notebook, never to be seen.

Never mind the fact that for many companies, the only 'research' that is done is funded externally, while holding on to all rights to the IP. That's a screed for another day. To sum that up in one sentence: it is wrong for shareholders to expect to have exclusive rights to the fruits of research, unless they are willing to fund the work that produced it exclusively. This is rarely done-- not just in the company in which I work, but several others across industry. But since most people in government (at least where I am) were business people first and foremost, they're all about channeling wealth from public coffers into private industry.

So that is why I am going back to school. Because I am sick of spending my days trying to attach a clock to someone else's radio and call that a new idea, and because I am sick of having to go begging to public institutions to pay for the privilege of doing so, despite the fact that the bulk of the financial reward of the work will go to a bunch of rich fat old men.

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The past 5 days have been interminable. I miss spending my days in blissful oblivion. I don't even remember much during the times I was using heroin. My memory is shit. This fucking Klonopin is a curse, but I can't function without it and I am not ready for benzo withdrawal.

I've done nothing to get outside of my head. I had my first dream in God knows how long. It was more of a nightmare, really. I was a red headed man, for some reason. (I think I've been listening to too much Queens of the Stone Age.) I worked at my old job, with my old manager. All of a sudden, we were in the hospital. I think my red headed male counterpart self was injured. Shot maybe, possibly an animal bite, some kind of garish flesh wound. They worked on me and worked on me and I think they shot me with Dilaudid. The cravings are so hard to overcome. They come in my sleep. They never leave my waking mind. I can't even think about anything besides the 19th, when I get my Percocet script refilled... 600mg of oxycodone and thousands and thousands of milligrams of Tylenol. Last month, I took at least 15 a day without even cold water extracting. I didn't give a shit. I just wanted to be fucking high. Possibly overdose on Tylenol and be dead in 10 days time, with liver failure. I'm still having some stomach pains and whatever. The NA Meeting I was supposed to go to started 10 minutes ago, but I don't really want to be around other addicts right now.

Right now, addicts disgust me. Because I am an addict. I disgust myself. I don't want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member, as the saying goes. The funny thing is anyone can be a member of this shitty addict club. I guess I've been a poly-drug abusing addict for nearly 10 years now. I'm 25. You do the math. I haven't learned how to self-soothe. Without chemicals.

I have therapy on Friday and a psychiatrist appointment on Saturday. I'm going to ask for Ambien and Xanax. I don't give a shit. This new guy sucks about as bad as my old guy. Psychiatrists and Therapists are so different. I think I like therapists more, even though most can't write those yummy prescriptions everyone loves. They just fucking listen and bounce back what you tell them...

I stare at the scars on my arm from old self-harm episodes and want to open them up with the razors I use to chop my dope and pills. I want to jump out of my window. I want to walk in front of a speeding train. I know exactly where and when. Just sit at the train station and wait for that deafening BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP of the horn of an express train.

My mood changes -- sometimes hourly or more -- from relief that I am not longer opioid dependent, depression that I have no money or job right now nor any school prospects until I can start working again, wanting to move out of this godforsaken apartment, out of the Bronx, out of New York. Also, the cravings. I've been using NyQuil and Ambien and my Klonopin to try and sleep. 2 and a half more weeks until we get some money, or until my old job fucking replaces my check with a new one because I'd never cashed it & it expired. It's like, literally, $XX.XX dollars. From one night's work. It's chump change, but right now it's sounding like some roxies to me. What the fuck good is a few roxies going to do for me? It's also sounding like a nice number of bags of dope. That might be better. I'm obsessing over drugs constantly as well as money. Texting all my drug buddies to see "what's up", and even if anything WAS UP, I don't have any fucking money. Plus, I'm no good for a front right now. Hell, I owe a good friend $XX bucks for some stuff I was supposed to pick up for her. I've never scammed anyone out of anything, but shit happens when you're in the middle of opioid addiction and money gets crossed and then you fuck up, majorly. I owe another friend a great deal more money, because he was kind enough to give me money for my rent that I so selfishly spent on drugs.

All he wanted me to do was go to church with him on Sunday, but I couldn't, because I was dope sick. He's a really good guy and one of the last people I would have thought would come through, not because he's a bad guy, but because I'm not anything to him. I've known him peripherally through my girlfriend, when he was best friends with her ex, but I had the feeling he didn't think much of me because I used drugs and drank so much. Then he got involved with some guy, everything was pretty fucked up for him, drank quite a bit. Then he joined the Navy, found God and became one of those born again Christians. He even bought me a bible in purple paisley leather... my favorite fucking color and pattern. He even drove me and my girlfriend to the cemetery where my mom and aunt are buried and I finally got to see her after 5 and a half years for me mom and 12 years for my aunt.

It was a crazy experience. The day was rainy and gloomy, but when we found my mom's headstone, the clouds above us seemed to have parted. I put some stones I'd found on top of her headstone, as Jews do, because flowers aren't what we do. Flowers are pretty for a while, but in the end, they are dead, when not growing in the ground of course. But stones and rocks are more permanent. One grave nearby was covered in seashells and a lot of them had bushes growing in front of the headstones. I kind of know what it all means, but I kind of don't.

Then I saw this weeping willow tree, so I thought we'd go over to it. Not 25 feet away was my aunt Ida's gravestone. I figured I'd go back and find her next time, but we practically tripped over her. I cried a little more and then once again the clouds parted right above us for some sun to shine through.

It's so weird though, because I was born and raised Jewish. I don't want to convert to Christianity. I am content with being "Jew-ish", if you dig.

I think I'd rather not go to church (unless it's in the basement, for an NA meeting) while high or dope sick. It seems so disrespectful.

What is keeping me here, really? I guess my dad. He's had Parkinson's for over 13 years now. It started with a weird twitch in his left hand and now it leaves him almost completely paralyzed, with dementia and anxiety to go along with it. My father has been suffering for so long. I want him to rest. I don't want him to die, but it's so selfish of me to want him to live as the shell of his former self. The last time I visited him, he thought my brother was his nephew and thought there were microchips implanted in his wrist that he would talk to. I'd bought him a television a few years ago, but the Nursing Home since moved his room and lo and behold, no more television. What the fuck? I just want my dad to have some peace. Keeping him alive is like torture. A few times, he asked me to kill him. I couldn't kill him, but I would want my child to kill me if I asked them. That's fucked up though. I don't want my kid to go to hell for killing me. Maybe they could just get me enough drugs for me to do the job.

I'm so pissed off my girlfriend bought cigarettes. It's the same price as a bag of dope. FUCK! I shouldn't be feeling like this but I do.

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Well, it's late and I don't see anything I want to post on. So I decided to start a blog. I am really happy right now. My pain is controlled and I'm relaxing in bed. My drug of choice is norco 10/325mg. I take 2-3 a day. I think I might need to increase to 4 in a month or 2. I think I either have 2 pinched nerves one in my neck and one in my lower back or I have fibromyalgia. Idk. I still work and can handle it. By 3pm I'm antcy and ready to go home and lay down. I'm only productive a few hrs a day. I find myself reading about Vicodin and researching it. I think I love it. It has brought new pleasures in my life. I am more active and suffer less. I still have flair ups and at times and it brings me down. But over all my quality of life is better. I hate how some people look at you like you are a drug addict if you take narcotics. But I don't care. I know what I am and I know what I'm not. I may be physical dependent or have a tolerance, but a addict no. I would love to just take it for a buzz. That would be amazing. But I hate being in agony. I hate feeling my muscles throbb, and the shooting pain is terrible. I can not stand the feelings in my calfs that I get every freaken day. Well I'm sleepy now so that's all till next time

But it's so fucking hard to sleep.

I've had to rely on NyQuil for the past few nights. I think the worst is over... till the next time, I guess. I don't even feel like writing. I feel like an empty shell of a human being and I want nothing to do with myself or my thoughts. I'm going to lie down on my clean sheets and play my Nintendo DS, hopefully till the Sandman comes...

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Maybe I should start taking my Wellbutrin... Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Interesting stuff! I do alot of reading & research, & genetics/descendants of inbreeding although absolutely taboo in my mind, nevertheless has not blinded me to the fact that even in America regardless of legality occurs alot more frequently than most people care to assume. A friend of mine had been molested repeatedly by her natural father from the time she was 11-13. Her dad had been born and raised in a rural area of the deep south, & while it wasn't talked about, & marriages didnt occur between siblings or parent/child, interbreeding between older brother &/or father rapes on younger sisters/daughters was accepted "in the closet" & went unreported.

Several M.D. coworkers I questioned in the past had told me conceptions resulting between half siblings or parent child unions could in fact often times be free of defects and without apparent consequences to being born healthy and living productive lives. They would, of course need to consult with MD specialist in genetic counseling to get a more reliable answer, as blood work, genetic tests would have to be obtained from each birth parent because each case is unique. Results could potentially fall anywhere from catastrophic, normal, to superior intelligence and/or immunity from diseases many are vulnerable to.

The probability of dimenished health/physical/mental defects becomes greater when interbreeding continues to produce offspring into 2nd, 3rd, 4th + generations--such as European royalty bloodline. King Henry VIII from what I've researched was credited to having been "the most gifted" of England's kings as a young man with superior strength in body, excelled in hunting, jousting, archery, as well as possesing superior intelligence, well educated, and composed beautifal music, songs, poetry, and if I remember correctly, could play some musical instruments very well.

Eventually repeated sports injuries would one day prevent him from exercise, which combined with the excessive consumption of red meats, ale, bread, and wine (veggies were considered peasant food) caused obesity, gout, maybe diabetes that ultimately killed him, not his genes, though some of his wives suffered from dysmennorrhea, difficulty conceiving, and inability to sustain viable pregnancies resulting in miscarriages, stillborns, or not living past 2-3 yrs.

The Hutterites on Nat Geo I could tell immediately they were generations of the practice of interbreeding, as they pretty much all look the same. I had met someone that had been born a hermaphordite years ago that had fathered several children, yet had the capability of having been a mother had he/she chosen by C-section. The docs I questioned had said brother/sister sharing same mother and father would involve the most potential risk, as opposed to parent/child or 1st cousins because full siblings both share the same 2 parents. This got me wondering if a hermaphrodite copulated with itself and produced a child would the risk be even greater than brother-sister equal?

I know thats a strange thing to wonder but Ive always had a mind wondering about things considered surreal by mainstream society no doubt. I havent yet been able to find hypothetical theories or facts to answer my question no doubt because hermaphrdites are rare and the ones I have read about eventually became either male or female in US or Canada, or lived as lady boys in India, Thailand, or Japan but none that I know of, except for a fictional character in a Dean Koontz book. Any thoughts?

Looked back at the entry I posted last night not a good state of affairs... I was stoned and I was hysterical... not a good combo.

Today I feel less like I need to leave this world and more like I need C out of my world. I deleted all the texts he sent, deleted his number, blocked him on Facebook... the only way he can get to me is if he turns up at the door or if he emails my work email address which I don't think he has anymore.

I'm done with him. I'm changing my phone number as soon as I'm able to. I've written to my mobile provider to see if they'll change it or let me upgrade and get a new number a month early.

It's funny how we trust others with the fragility of our hearts. All too often they end up crushed and maimed...

Never again. NEVER AGAIN. I had one big love in my lifetime (Alan) that I won't ever regret despite how it ended... I knew true romance once in my life and I don't ever want to feel it again. It hurt too much.

It took me a long time to get over Alan, and I'm only just getting there now, and despite the bitter-sweet feelings evoked from memories of he and I... I don't regret the time we had... I just regret how it ended. Although it was inevitable that it could end. There was no way that two such passionate, emotional, sensitive souls could stay together. In many ways we were too alike. I used to hate the thought of being like him. But now I catch myself saying or doing things, and smiling. Because I see him in me... and it's something special for me that won't ever go away long after his love for me burned out.

This blip I'm having now with C... it's just a blip... I tried so hard with him and he just doesn't want to be helped. I started changing myself to be what he wanted and I promised myself I'd never be that person. I'm secure in myself. I don't need to adhere to anybody else's standards.

I'd give anything to sit with Alan one more time. He and I, and a few g's of billy... yattering word pictures and deconstructing organised religion.

The heart will never forget. So I celebrate what we had.

Man, i love me some Mexican Coke, in the glass bottle. When I buy it, I freeze it because it gets real slushy - little pieces of ice in every sip.

mane, i just figured out what i already knew: to get the right pair of jeans costs money. you can't mess around and buy the ones that look good enough because they're on sale, you have to buy the ones that are in the display case.

the rules are like this: $80 is the new $50. there are people out there who can afford to get the $300 pairs, but i'm not one of them - living low over here. so my magic number is $90, for a pair that makes the crotch and ass look right for when i'm showing off my goodies, like look at what you can't have, gay men and older women. this booty good.

It has been the slowest but most productive wknd I have had in a long time. Making civil liability legislation my bitch.

Going to ace tomorrow's exam, go back to work the next day and smash it. Life is so much better when you get all that negative bullshit out and fuck off no-good liars. I am too fucking old for mind games.