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Getting busted by the feds is never a good thing.. especially for making drugs. You are made to feel like the title of this blog. Worthless and evil. My friend is experiencing this right now. I grew up with him his entire life. He has served his time, and now can't find a job that justifies the cost of getting in his car. On top of that, he is in court for custody related matters at least once a month as his sons mother skipped town with his son not long after his release, the child and father have a close bond, and they keep in contact but the last time he has held his son was a week over Christmas.. he feels like a digital dad at this point, trying to maintain that bond over Skype is simply not acceptable. However, the judge has allowed it, despite an existing court order. I do not know how to console my friend. He is a good guy, loves his son, whom was born after his arrest. I fear that if his son is not in his life, his love for phenethylamine and tryptamine chemistry will resurface.. he seems very firm on never breaking the law again, but dont you need to make controlled intermediates to get to a vast majority of the rc's of current popularity? Im just worried about him, he has a big heart, and loves everyone, which is likely his problem.

ABC

Thankfully my best friend seems to have put all thoughts of South Korea to one side for the moment.

There was a moment where I was worried that my feelings went beyond that of friendship but the more I think about it the more I'm sure that they don't.

I'm just a bit protective of him, because he is so similar to me, when he is vulnerable.

I am suffering from frenzied insomnia tonight. I wish I had the energy to write about the things that are keeping me awake, but I can't quite find the words and they would only make me cry.

I'm so very lonely, and I'm so very scared of life, and although I'm thankful for what I have... I wish for that little something more. Overblown passionate gusts to blow the cobwebs away.

It's nights like this that spirit me away on yearning clouds to thoughts of my ex, 1.2, and I play out the happy times like a film. So long ago. So fucking long ago. Will I ever love again? Will I ever be loved again?

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So I am 5 days sober and had the urge to document my struggle. I wrote this in one sitting and never intended it to be this long. This was written on a notepad text document and is taken directly from there with no proofreading or editing. So I apologize for all grammatical spelling and other errors to those who choose to read.

-----Part 2-----

Eventually and obviously it caught up to me a few months later. Nobody knew what was going on even my best friend or family I hid it ell. But I stopped paying rent and caring about anything really but scoring. I still stood at the register of my crappy gas station job like a zombie but it was only to punch a clock and collect a check to hand over to some dealer for another day of bliss. But even though I did not consider consequences that does not mean that there were none. When you stop paying rent you get evicted. That is bad enough personally to fail at even the most basic of things but I also let my roomate and best friend down. He suffered for my mistakes. He never even touched the stuff(at least he did not at the time. A short time later I turned him onto it and he is just as bad as me to this day and I will always carry that guilt as well) So he was forced to move back in with his parents for a while. After that I lost my job. I do not even remember why I was probably nodding out at the register or something. I stayed at the girls house I was seeing or random friends for a while. Then the girl realized I was a not good for her and my hook up got tired of giving me freebies when I no longer had income. So I moved back in with my parents but they still did not really know what was going on. The day I moved back in with them I think was the first time I did not have a daily fix since that first night. And that night and the following days were the first time I experienced withdraws.

There are many feelings in life that are difficult to describe to someone else who has never felt that particular thing before. To try to explain opiate withdraw to someone who has never experienced it might be one of the most extreme. Over the years I have had to explain why I was sick to friends or family when it was one of the many times I had run out money and charity or just was trying to kick and they never understand nor could they. Withdrawing from opiates is one of the most painful experiences I myself have had to go through. I have had dry socket from wisdom teeth, kidney stones etc., I would take any of those things twofold over withdraw. Because withdraw is not just about the physical pain... and there is physical pain. But the drastic change in body temperature; one minute you have to cover up with 3 blankets because you feel like you just came in from a snowstorm and the very next minute you are lying in bed in nothing but your underwear with your whole body and bed covered in sweat. The excruciating head aches. The nausea and vomiting. The nagging and ever persistant muscle twitching and restless leg syndrome that seems to simply not allow you to fall asleep. Worst of all, at least for me, is the diarrhea if you want to call it that. That word is way to pleasant to even come close to explaining it. I could only describe it as molten lava shooting from my rectum. And I am not talking once or twice a day you almost have the urge to go constantly and as much as you try not to go because you think you can not possibly subject yourself to that pain again. Your body will not cooperate and you will be on the toilet with your ass hole in seering pain at least 6 times a day(on a good day) Dante himself could not have dreamt up a more torturous state for even the deepest levels of hell.

So after experiencing the personal hell of withdraw and staying in my parents guest room for a week straight drinking water and eating barely anything with only cold medicine and tylenol to help with the wd symptoms because I had pawned it off to my parents as just being "the flu or something". So after I got past those horrible first days I realized that as great as it was to get high nothing was worth ever going through that again. So I swore I would never touch them again, and I didnt... for a while. I went to college like I had planned to and was doing well. I still thought about getting high every day and longed for that feeling again but through sheer terror of having to withdraw again combined with being a broke college student with no hook ups. I was able to abstain and not do anything. Eventually that feeling of longing subsided and I was able to go about life without spending every waking second thinking about it. For almost 2 years I never so much as ate a Tylenol 3.

Everything was going well with school and life was back to normal. Around this time I met a girl who I was really into. We had a film appreciation class together and we would flirt with each other and eventually we started hanging out. Well when things got serious and I started staying at her place occasionally I find out that she is addicted to Percoset. She is very embarassed about it she had some car accident and was prescribed them and started taking more than the rec. dose, liked the feeling, and it grew from there to eventually she was running through her 120 10/325's in a week or less. So surprisingly what happend next is I help her kick. She stopped going to the pain clinic (she no longer had any real chronic pain but was still going and lying to score the script.) I had read some things about easing withdraw since I had gone through it before. We tried to taper her a little with her last script but she still ended up wd's but it was made much easier by me setting her up with everything she needed for the Thomas method
and just being there with her for moral support. It was fairly painless considering how bad that it can be cold turkey with no treatment of individual symptoms. So she kicks and does not even seem to have the same desire that I had to get high after the initial symptoms are gone. We are both clean and have that experience in common. It ends up being maybe the best relationship I have ever had in my life to this point.

Somewhere around 9 months later I had gotten a pretty good job and was still taking classes in the evenings. The girlfriend is still a full-time student and the relationship with her is great. I had just bought a new car and was selling my old 92 Subaru Legacy. I put an ad in the local ad bulletin for $1000 firm. Few days later I get a call from someone who is interested. Turns out it is someone I knew from my hometown he knows the car has low miles and has seen it around and knows it is in good condition and agrees it is a fair price. We arrange for him to come pick up the car the next day. The next day he shows up to pick up the car but he says there is a small problem. He could only get $800 cash today. I do not even remember why. He could however give me the $800 today and bring me the rest on Monday(this was on a Saturday if I remember correctly) OR... and this is another one of those moments in time I wish I could time travel back to and slap myself right in the face point my index finger firmly in my past selfs face and loudly and sternly just say "NO!" ...Or he will give me 20 oxy 40's right now. I only thought about how good of a deal that was and nothing else. I mean at this time I could probably get $40 each out of these if I wanted to just sell a few at a time and could have them all gone in faster than I could get a pizza delivered for $30 each. So that is an extra $400 conervatively that I would be getting for my car. So I barely even hesitate I take the $800 and the oxy and sign over the title. The worst part is right before he is about to leave he turns to me and says something to the effect of "If you ever want any more of those I have as many as you need."

So I actually think about who might want these because I really could use the extra money with just buying the new car and the down payment has put a pretty big dent in my savings. -The one useful thing I learned from this particular chain of events/life experience was that an addict will always be an addict.- After I get back up to the apartment nobody is home not sure where Amy was but I was alone in my apartment with 20 oxy 40's. I somehow decide it is a good idea and not a big deal if I just do one. I mean at this point I have only had one significant stint with losing control and it was only for like 3 months and has been almost 3 years ago. So in my mind at this point it was never even a real problem. I mean I was young that 3 months was just a product of my enviroment and I was experimenting, thats what kids are suppose to do at that age right? And any other imaginable justification going through my head. Anyways the devil on the left shoulder overpowers the angel on the right and I crush a 40 and blow it all by myself in one line. Unlike the last time however, after 20 minutes or so of feeling great I get sick. Run to the restroom puke several times in the toilet.

-----End part 2-----

For the past week, I've been off opiates (except for very low doses of Suboxone that a friend was kind enough to throw me). Today is my first day back on a full-agonist. My last dose of Suboxone was over 24hrs ago and it was only .25mg, so I felt confident enough that I'd be able to feel the oxy. That suicidal sort of depression was creeping up on me... The despondence, the despair, the desire... I just wanted to get high. I needed to get high. I obsessed about it. I dreamt about it. I dreamt about heroin and cocaine and oxy and opana... Stumbling upon some insanely large amount of drugs... chopping lines, grabbing a straw, getting ready to SNIFF... and then waking up. Cold and miserable and FEELING MY FEELINGS. (The horror! The horror!) Those long, long days with no escaping...

So I called up my buddy who I usually grab my stuff from but his usual guys weren't around. So we tried a backup. This backup guy was definitely a trip. My buddy, his girlfriend, my girlfriend and myself all jumped in this tiny car and drove to meet up with the dude who was supposed to have the pills. Only, he didn't have the pills. He told us thought he dropped them in this other guy's car. This other guy was a complete fucking dick... and we were all fairly certain he did have this guy's pills. Mr. "I didn't steal your pills" got into his car and sped off after Mr. "I lost my pills" confronted him about it. So Mr. "I lost my pills" jumps in the car with us and we drive to at least 5 different locations where he could have possibly dropped his pills. He searched in quite a few places, let me tell you. Each more illogical than the next. (This kid, in all fairness, was fucking keyed up on a bunch of coke and probably on the tail end of a binge and not thinking rationally in the slightest.) In the end, we ended up going to someone else entirely. But we all really felt bad for this guy, because he has a legit script and this fucker probably stole them. Denied, denied, denied. This guy also called some other fucking scumbag to do his fighting for him... but it was all chest puffing and talk, talk, talk. My buddy was ready to have his back, too. I'm fairly certain our guys would have won... but luckily nothing violent went down...

Hopefully Mr. "I didn't steal your pills" karma will come knocking quite soon. <---- My new favorite BL smiley.

So, like 3 hours later we finally get what we all came for and I can go home and use my drugs.

I crushed up a 30mg Oxycodone IR -- otherwise known as Roxies, Blues or... well, that's pretty much the only terms I use for them. And sniffed that shit up!

I think I'm just as addicted to chasing down and scoring the drugs as I am to the actual drugs.

It's a sick and twisted sort of fun, trying to score. I like having a regular, go-to guy who I can call or text and meet up with and get my shit, but it's also kind of an adventure to drive around and find new connects...

Blah, I'm rambling. I have to see a psychiatrist tomorrow so I am debating whether or not I should sleep... I need to score some more shit too... but I'm already hemorrhaging money as it is... I don't want to end up in Housing Court again. Sigh. When will I learn???

Anyway, I think I'll do another half of a pill... Schniffffff.

It took me a while to realise why I am feeling pretty good tonight.

It is because tomorrow is my psycho ex's sentencing and I (fingers crossed) get my restraining order. 3 years of hell, a year of fighting and now i'm gunna be free! I will have my life back tomorrow.

WOOOO!!

There is something very broken, in my head.

There we were . . I was high on coke and there were other people a little buzzed. Other people came over to smoke and enjoy the pre party before they ventured into the Hawaii nightlife. I played the music because I like to control the music. I played Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody and it was a non stop moment in life when all people just stopped and listened. Second verse came in to and the entire group without thought rocked out to a magnificent event. I was looking up while rocking out and saw everyone in a trance state of enjoying the moment. It no other thought was bothering them. They were all in the moment. I was the observer but I also was in the moment. Times like this will never happen again. With friends, with strangers, life comes together with nothing more than music.

I have just been released again from jail and am getting tired of this life style. I wish it was easier to just say no to that sweet lady H. I guess if it was so easy though it wouldn't have been such a good drug. Anyway, so I had a little relapse and got caught walking down a street with a sack in my pocket that I forgot about. Whoops. I wish I could blame the police for just stopping me without probable cause or being smart enough to stick the sack up my ass or carrying it my mouth but you can't change the past. What's done is done. It has cost me another 6 months of my life.

Also, at this time my girl was on the run from the law and her parents (they have family in law enforcement). She bailed me out of my position case but I or we didn't get to spend more than a week till her family sent the cops. I got re-arrested on some made up violation. She got to go to rehab. I thought with all the over crowding in California prisons and jails I would get to go to a program too, but the DA figured differently since I left one once.

I wrote to my beloved while she was in rehab and I was in the county jail. It got me through being being stuck in a shitty place. Than only three months into the sentence her letters stopped. I heard from the grapevine that her overly protective parents found out I wrote to her. They sent her someplace far away now, I guess. I wish I knew where. I wish I could get her back. I am now just depressed.

So now I am free. I lost my wife of ten years. I have no one to talk to. I have to get shit off my chest by posting to a Blog, but what a great website to do it on . (a little ass kissing never hurts). I think the most shittiest thing though is that I really want a shot. Even though it has cost me everything, and I do mean every-fucking-thing.

Ah fuck it.

PLEASE COMMENT!!!! I NEED HELP!!!!!

Down the rabbit hole I went and this time it would not be a 3 month binge. You would think this is the part of the story where I tell you my whole life went to shit and everything fell apart. But that is not quite the case. It was really a slow build from there I guess. Like one of those cars from the soap box derby at the top of a big hill where the slope is still gradual, heading for the inevitable stomach wrenching steep part of the hill which there is no return. The leftovers from that night which may have been 8 or so I really do not recall exactly. Lasted me about 3 weeks. I was just gonna do them occasionally I told myself. Why should I not have something that I enjoy? I have a good job where I work hard all week. I will be a weekend warrior I half heartedly reassured myself. Like a well earned treat for myself at the end of a long work week. Then the big game was coming on and this would be so much better with a little buzz. Next it was as long as I never do them two days in a row I will be fine "I will not become physically dependant that way at least." I lied to myself. It all broke down from there but I maintained. Well except for with Amy. I mean we lived together there was no way I could get away with the lies for long. I would have thought the lies alone would be enough to drop me. But no, she wanted to work it out. I made more promises I knew that I would never keep and it all fell apart quickly after that. She was loyal and loving but also very smart. She saw where I was headed and it was either get pulled down with me or walk away. She chose the latter and wiser path. I held my job fine. I guess I was what some people would call a functioning addict for a very long time. I went to work everyday I payed my bills and my taxes and attended social gatherings. After a while the "normal" me that everyone knew was the me on oxy. Being high was my baseline now. I continued this for a very long time. I paid back my old buddy who bought my Subaru back probably 1000 times over if not more. I probably put his kid through college.

I tried to kick several times over the years when I started getting a tolerance level that I thought was too high. And I did kick several times... but not really. I would be off for a week or two maybe a month tops. Then I was right back there giving that guy back his money for that Subaru over and over again. He was an amazing hook up I will say that. He seemed to have as many as I wanted anytime I wanted them day night did not matter. I never knew how or why or where he would get that much oxy. I never asked, I didnt care as long as it was there. I never let myself get to a point where I couldnt feel something off of 120 mg. and I tried to only dose once a day. When that didnt seem like enough I would quit... "for good this time" ...every time. I knew people who were banging 3 times that amount every day maybe more. "I am not as bad as them at least." I told myself. I stopped in a lot of different ways. I just detoxed cold turkey almost as if to punish myself and remind myself of the damage that it must be doing to my body if it hurt that much just to heal. I tapered my dose down to completely nothing by myself with nobody controlling my meds(which if you have ever tried know is a very very difficult thing to do.) I found a source for Suboxin and did that for a while. My thing with myself is I will never put a needle in my arm as long as I never do that I am not a junkie. I was a junkie though I knew it then as clearly as I do right now but I managed to convince myself and always justify it somehow. I was not like those guys banging H on Capital St. I was not a junkie I did not even shoot. But the only thing a needle would have changed was I would have gotten more for my money. I was a junkie all the same.

Still I maintained this lifestyle and continued being a contributing member of society. Sometime around late 2009 or early 2010 though that facade came crashing down as well. A new opiate finally made it's way to my area. It was called OxyMorphone or Opana. It was like it was made for me. 3x stronger than oxy and I didnt even have to shoot it like Hyrdomorphone(Dilaudid). The BA was almost as good insuffilated. The first time it was like falling in love all over again like all those years ago melted into that beat up recliner. I had finally almost chased down that feeling again ... almost. But to quote a popular artist. "No matter how much, too much is never enough." I stopped trying to kick after that and just stopped following all the rules... except the needle. Still no needles, I was no junkie. But now more than ever I was just that. I spent more and more money on this new better love that I had found. Eventually I "borrowed" some money from petty cash at work and got caught and I no longer had that good job to help me be a functioning sociatal member. I did things after that that make me sick to my stomach as I sit here. I took advantage of trust built over the years by getting large amounts fronted to me with no way to pay it back in the forseeable future. I pawned jewelery that belonged to my deceased grandmother. Near the end when it got really bad I was stealing oxycodone from my grandfather who was dying from Luekemia. My own grandfather who was in incredible pain at the end of his life. I mean he was a terminal cancer patient I am sure he had no trouble getting replaced what I was stealing from him. But if it caused him one day, one hour of extra pain or suffering then I deserve every second of every agonizing moment of withdraw that I experienced in my life and that would not even cover the interest. I was sick. I am sick. I will be sick for the rest of my life. I am an addict. I am a junkie.

I sit here having just written all this way too wordy, incredibly long story of the escalation of my sickness in one sitting while I am 5 days sober. I am in the end stages of the physical WD symptoms right now there are still some there but after the first 3 days of hell this feels like a swedish massage. I stopped cold turkey again but this time it was not to punish myself, or perhaps it was on some subconscious level, but consciously something just clicked off or on or whatever and I realized I have to stop. Not because of the damage I have done to myself and my life but because of the damage I have done to others. Not just to any "others" but people I love. People I love very dearly and some who I will never be able to even try to make amends because they are gone now, like my grandfather. So after considering all the peoples lives I have negatively affected I just mentally lost the desire to continue using or maybe I am taking to much credit and my body and brain realised I am killing them and decided to fight back. I dont know what it was but it feels different this time. I was never very spiritual I do not really have a fear of making amends to the things I have done to make peace with any god. I am not even sure I beleive in any god. I just know this time I really want to stop and I am going to reach out to people this time because I now know that I am ill. I have a disease that I can not defeat on my own any more than I could if it was cancer. I also have no disillusion that just because I think it "feels different" this time that I will win. I know that I have a high chance of relapsing at some point but if I do I will dust myself off and fight again. Because I am lucky enough to have family and friends that still love me enough to help me and hold me accountible. That doesnt even mean I will succeed. But it does mean they give me the chance to succeed if I want to badly enough. If anyone ever reads this and you have read this far there is a good chance that you and I either share this sickness or you have conquered it in the past. If you are the the latter I congratulate you. Anyone who has not been an addict of some kind can never truly appreciate your triumph. It is something to be proud of you defeated the toughest opponent at least I personally ever came across in this life. If you are the former and you are readind this and you too are still plagued by this disease I hope you can take at least something from my words. Maybe learn from my mistakes if you have not already made the same ones. I hope you also choose to fight if it has negatively effected your life the way that is has mine. And I hope you are victorious.

I think when I started writing this it was so I could show people that is was not my fault. How unlucky I was. All the small things that happend that if they were a little bit different just one little thing and I would have avoided temptation and just been a normal person. I mean the last thing I should want to do while I am in the middle of detoxing and withdraws is talk about it and bring it more to my own attention. A sane person would be trying to distract themselves from the pain not talk about it. I may not be sane I do not know. But I know I feel more sane now than I have in a while. Again when I started writing this I wanted to blame my old friend from when I was 19 that traded me that first oxy for a little bit of reefer. I wanted to blame the random chance that some guy who saw an ad for a car I was selling had both the drug itself and the gumption to actually offer it to me. I wanted to blame the drugs themselves for being somehow inherently evil. I wanted someone, anyone to see that it was the fault of these people, things, events that have gotten me to where I am now. But over the course of actually writing it I guess it was theraputic in a way because I realized that none of that is true at all. I made every decision that led me to where I am right now. I was in control of my own destiny. I am still in control of my own destiny. I make the decsisons that both positively and negatively effect my life. The results of those decisions for better or worse are of my own doing. I take responsibility for my actions.

Its such a horrible pateren, was up for 5 nights last week on puff n juice. Had a blast but I have a fantastic job n need to keep focused.. The only thing is weekends are so boring without drugs.. Tonight i was planing to just watch a relaxing dvd. However instead i didn't even do anything but stayed n a bedroom with one other person puffing all night puffing away.. Now it's almost sunday afternoon and work tomorrow is going to be a bitch.. I had my fun last week n promised myself this wouldn't happened.. I fall into a bad habit last year and now only puff n juice once a month for fun.. However, this is my 4th weekend in a row now so I have broken my promise.. I have a lot more control n will not puff before work, however Life is so fucking boring.. Any suggestion, so I'm not tired for work tomorrow.. I have valliums n xanic however, do you think it's best to naturally fall asleep? This will be my last puff for the day!!! If my job wasn't so hard I wouldn't care, but I need to be 100% focused and being scattered is absolute tourer. Kill mee, why do I even do this to myself??

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I for one hate life, American life for that matter. I cannot stand how these people cloak them selves in this pseudo-moralism. I fucking hate how Americans think its patriotic to be stupid/ignorant, especially those that are heavily involved in religion. I never really thought about the saying, those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it. Now the older I get, it makes allot of sense. Americans love a war. The war on terror, the war on drugs, the war on drugs sadly is a civil war on American citizens. I think its time that people get organized and fight back. Fuck the powers that be, who the hell are they to tell me how to live my life, I’m not hurting any one. One thing people need to realize is that anti drug war sentiment is at an all time high. We need to fight back no one should mandate what I can put into my body. For fucks sake it’s a constitutional right to pursue happiness, as long as it hurts no one. That is the truth, as long as I’m not hurting, stealing, or forcing my views-beliefs on any one. But yet the government gets to say how I need to live, where the fuck did my freedoms go? This country was founded on sensible and beautiful beliefs. And some how they got smothered, desecrated. Why oh why, I get so depressed just thinking about it. I just want to live my life in happiness, making my own decisions on how I use any substance other than alcohol and tobacco. Is that asking too much, it seems that in America it is? It’s sad to see a free country turning into a police state. Believe it or not we have become our own worst enemy. Bright shiny badges have replaced swastikas. Drug users have become the enemy of the state sub human, a lot like in Nazi Germany with the Jews and other persecuted people. And society is ok with that, it’s perfectly fine to persecute taxpayers fuck!! The worst part is it’s like losing your virginity there is no going back. Once your rights are flushed down the toilet of society you cannot undo what’s been done. Try to get a job with a felony drug charge, try getting a loan to got to school, try voting to change the laws, oh wait you can’t. There needs to be a revolution a revolt, and I don’t believe it can be accomplished via the normal non violent means. People need to buck up and accept the reality. We need to fight the power. By all means necessary, bring the drug war to their front door and kick it in. Why should law enforcement be able to fight us with violence, im sick and tired of bending over and accepting their views, I want to incite violence, I will fight to the death, if that’s what it takes. We need to show them we are not afraid of them, let them put those billions of dollars spent on equipment, guns, amo, and armor to work. Narco terrorism needs to take a stand for drug user’s rights. Death to the drug war!!!

i sell cocaine crack heroine opium pcp 2ci 2c3 ecstasy ketamine nitrous GHB DMT LSD psilocybin mushrooms methamphetamine annndddd marijuana. i live in the city of toronto, i work at Churchs Chicken, ask for beef and theyll give you my number.i would also like to mention that i molest for money. so hit me up sometime we'll grab a beer and smoke some jib

It's been a hell of a ride. Been kicking opiates since the 31st of March cold turkey. Using just vitamins,Herbs,water and believe it or not Mikes hard Lemonade. Last night it seemed like it was starting all over and then I fell asleep around 4am and woke up at noon. Thanks ccoyne420 for telling me about the valerion root im pretty sure it's what's keeping me sane. Sneezing and chills are gone and pupils are finally back to normal. Im still really sore all over but that's fine it's time to get up and do stuff around the yard. I tell ya the worst part of all of this was my skin crawling just wanted to jump out of my own body. It's been a scary and I went through some shit and probably will for a few more days. I'll tell you what. I'm going to think about this every time I want to put that needle in my arm again. Keep you updated. Thanks for all your comments. 10yrs of opiates and im clean. WOW!!

Everytime Im away at college I have this feeling that im missing something back home when it comes to good times. The place im enrolled is in a small town with 2 bars a couple restaurants and nothing to consistantly find but weed. On the one hand it provides a stable place where I cant get in too much trouble. On the other I feel like im wasting my life away here. I probably am wasting my time here while I do know some people here I I cant really say that they are my friend I just cant be honest with them. I almost feel like an actor playing a role like this is how I am supposed to act or feel.

See im not sure what I need to do to be happy. A part of me wants to get a girl a degree a dog and have a boring middle class existance. But I cant really reconcile that with the part that wants to do drugs but still lived within societys boundaries (job,car shit like that)this part knows I need to stop the opiates for a good long while. The other main part wants to shoot heroin and live completely for the moment no matter what consequences that will bring. My therapist suggested that I have all these different personalities in my head that need to be satisfied he used the analogy of taking turns driving the car but that I need to be selective in which when and for how long I let each paricular one drive. But I kinda see that as a cop-out a way to act like im not making a irreversible decision when clearly all decisions are irreversible in that they have social consequences.

And its all about the social consequences I am albeit reluctantly a social creature by nature. The jist of it is I had it all and completely blew it, thru apathy and inneptitude. In high school I was never the popular guy but I cultivated 3 friendships I thought would last forever.As well as being a member of a larger social group that I really enjoyed. Well 2 out of the 3 didnt last 5 years and the other certainly isnt what it used to be. While I have come to realize that experience is common and not in itself cause for alarm, the fact is that I have had difficulty forming other friendships. I think that the insulatiing nature of my former friends made me miss a crucial period of social development. The situation is not just my imagination my therapist suggested that I may have "aspergers syndrome".

I would give anything to return to my social group of the past and it feels like it could possibly happen if I playd my cards perfectly. But I have this feeling thatI cant go back that I chose to leave that path for a reason. On the other hand this road at school seems very artificial. I just cant relate to these people. I just feel like either way I choose theres a good chance I am going to regret it later.

-----Part 3-----

While I am still in the restroom trying to recover at the sink with cold water there is a knock on my door. I freak out a little because I have 19 Oxy 40's laying on my coffee table. I rush in the living room scoop up the goodies and just stick them in my pocket. I open the door and it is my best friend (former roomate from the beginning of this increasingly long tale). He actually went off to college out of state after I got us evicted and he moved back home so I do not get to see him much. He had been in town for a few days visiting family but we had not been able to get our schedules straight to hangout yet. So I am pretty excited we are catching up and talking about old times, discussing what is going on with us now. He has a blunt of some Kush that we smoke which makes my stomach feel much better from the vomiting incident. That is when I make the decision that I may regret more than any other in this whole story. I tell my friend the whole story about the car and ask if he has ever tried them. He says that he hasnt so I ask if he wants to split one to try it. He is hesitant at first and in my own defense I did not pressure him in any way. He wrestles the idea around in his head for a little while and decides he is on a quasi-vacation and why not. He has wanted to try it in the past and has not so why not now with his best friend, have a little fun on his vacation. So I do it up chop in into 2 lines and rail mine in one fell swoop. "Hello darkness my old friend." He is a little skiddish with his line he does half up one nostril stops for a minute and does the rest up the other side. I ask why and he explains that he had done a little cocaine through the years and it always made him feel 'off' if he only railed with one nostril so he always alternated. For some unexplainable reason after that I have always done the same thing. No matter how big or small the line if I am putting it up my nose I do half up left half up right still to this day. Anyways I am feeling pretty good. I probably wasted some of the first one with the whole vomiting but now I feel like I am exactly where I want to be. I have that same feeling that I remember so fondly. We sit there and chat some more for about maybe 30 minutes and he is really digging the buzz. He asks if I want to split another one and offers to pay for this one. When you are high everything just feels so right with the world. I can not really explain it but other users will understand what I mean so at this point none of this still feels like a bad idea to me. I am still not an addict in my mind. I am just having a good time. I tell him his money is no good here and proceed to chop up another one. Split it into 2 lines and tell him to go ahead that I am going to wait a few before I do mine. He does his business and now he is really loving it, going on and on about how mellow of a buzz that this is and now he sees what all the rage is about. And I am just all "I know right."

A little while later we have just been relaxing on my couch shooting the shit or whatever enjoying the buzz. Then Amy comes home. She walks in and of course my line is still sitting there on the glass insert of our coffee table. I know that she sees it so I immediately jump into telling her the story about the car and the guy being short us splitting a couple "just a one time thing" I say to her. She is not happy I can tell. She just has that look on her face that I know all too well from all my fuck ups of the past. I am pretty sure if we did not have company she would have completely flipped out on me. She did however still voice her displeasure with the situation in a civil manner. Stating obvious reasons for why I should not be doing this. My friend feels really bad and is being very apologetic and of course taking all the blame saying it was all his idea because he wanted to try them. Which is not exactly or really at all the case but I mean what are friends for if not to help a brotha out with his woman if he is able to. To this point Amy and I have been brutally honest with each other through out our entire relationship.(which is probably why it is the most succesful functional relationship I have ever had) I decide I will just let this one slide it is not a big lie and it seems to have calmed her down and now she is somewhat apologetic about the situation not wanting to offend our company. That day I learned that lies in a relationship even small ones, like many other things, is a very slippery slope. So now all 3 of us are sitting in my living room after a somewhat short period of uncomfortable-ness. We then start talking about what we are going to do for the night. Our friend is in town we have to entertain. We are discussing going out maybe hit the clubs(which I quickly shoot down; I never was a club guy), maybe going to see a movie and grabbing some dinner. I suggest that Amy could invite over one of her slutty friends for my friend. Which leads to her hitting me in the arm and declaring "I don't have any friends like that." Which is not true practically all her friends would fit that description in my opinion but I let it go and move on. We start looking in the paper for movies or any events that are going on in the area. Turns out that their is a Pink Floyd indoor laser light show at this local place in what is usually a planetarium. (They just play Pink Floyd music and have like an indoor laser light show may sound kinda boring for a weekend night out if your not a stoner but it was really awesome) This sounds pretty cool to all of us and then I, just without thinking about how angry she was earlier, blurt out "How cool would it be to get faded on oxy and that Kush and go to that show." She gives me that all too familiar look again and I cringe inside and prepare for her to really get angry this time. She turns to my friend and asks if he will excuse us for just a moment and immediately walks out the door into the hallway. He just stares at me blankly and says flatly "You are a fucking moron." I say nothing and just dutifully follow into the hallway and shut the door behind me. She does not start yelling as soon as the door shuts and I look up to a conflicted face rather than an angry one. "If we do this you have to promise me it is just this one time." I am completely taken off guard by this, she goes on to say a bunch of other things after that about how she likes to have fun too but she does not wanna go down that path again etc etc. But I blanked out after the first bit. I catch back up as she is making me promise her "say it" she said. "I promise." I said without hesitation. Slippier and slippier that slope would become.

So we go back inside and my friend just looks at me inquisitively. Probably wondering if I had screwed up enough that I and therefore he would have to find somewhere else to crash tonight since he was planning on staying with us. I give him a look like "we are good" with a thumbs up and he still looks confused. Amy walks over to the coffee table grabs the pen that I had cut in half to use for the earlier oxy consumption and rails the line that is still sitting in the middle of the coffee table without saying a word. The rest of that night was amazing. Had I had kept that promise that I made in that hallway it would be one of the best nights of my life. I had my two favorite people on this planet with me. We laughed all night we saw the light show. We ate at some Pizzaria that was open all night at 3am. The food was awful but it did not matter in the slightest. We walked the several blocks back to where we had parked earlier in the night singing the thunderous chorus of "Us and Them" at the top of our lungs. We were all Euphoric and stoned and just happy. It was the perfect "last time we do this" night and it should have been the last time I ever touched an opiate. But it wasnt, not by a long shot. I do not know how many of those lovely little pills we went through but it was enough that we all got sick and then did more to the point that we did not care. Amy and I agreed earlier in the night that whatever was left would not even be held onto to sell to make up the money for the car to avoid any temptation. That they would just be tossed out the car window or down the toilet or whatever just as long as they were gone before the night was over. I did not hold on to any of them to sell... but I did not throw them out either. I wish I could say that I at least had them in my hand ready to dump them and then at the last moment decided not to but that would be a lie. I never even considered dumping them. In my mind at the time I rationalized it as I could never do that because it is like burning money. That was not the reason though. I was an addict and now I was awoken. I had a stash already and a connect that told me that he had them whenever I wanted them. I was in love again. The next morning my best friend left my house also with the beginnings of a sickness that we share to this day and I even gave him one for the road. I also started lying to Amy that day. Both of those things (near the top of a long list of other bad decisions I have made in my life) I deeply regret.

-----End Part 3-----

So I am 5 days sober and had the urge to document my struggle. I wrote this in one sitting and never intended it to be this long. This was written on a notepad text document and is taken directly from there with no proofreading or editing. So I apologize for all grammatical spelling and other errors to those who choose to read.

For me it all started oh so innocently. I was 19 years old and out on my own for the first time. A cheap small apartment that was part of a duplex with my roomate. Who was then and is to this day my best friend. We both had minimum wage jobs to cover rent and electricty and all the weed we were smoking at that time. Everything just felt so normal and I felt so alive. Looking back now 10 years later and I do not even think I know what normal feels like anymore.

Neither of us were drinkers. I am not sure how he felt about it really but alchohol just never appealed to me. I mean maybe a beer or two occasionally but never really with the goal of getting hammered drunk. I did not enjoy the process, it just felt laboring to me like I had to work to get that 'not there' feeling that reefer provided with just a few tokes. Weekends were the only time I really partook in the stuff and that was only because everyone else was doing it and admittedly it did help loosen me up when trying to talk girls into sleeping with me. Our whole existence revolved around getting stoned and getting laid. It was a great time in my life. I was young and I was making my own way. The whole world was in front of me. I had decided to take a year off before starting college. It felt like a right of passage after high school before starting my journey into the 'real world'.

We regularly had friends over even on weekdays after work for smoke sessions. I had no extra money for cable and had no need for it. We would just sit around and contemplate the universe while Nirvana or Dr Dre or Pearl Jam provided the background noise. During one of these smoke sessions as a friend was leaving he asked if I could sell him a dime(10$ worth of weed) so he would have something for the next day. I agreed and stuffed a generous amount of my stash into one of those little tiny bags that you buy at your local headshops that I had lying around from a similar purchase I had made a few days ago. I went to hand him the small baggie but before he reached out he stopped and said "I do not have any cash on me". I thought for only a very short moment and told him not to worry about it he could get me back next time. He still did not reach for my outstretched hand that was offering him the reefer. "Or.." he said "we could trade" and he opened his hand and revealed a presicely cut half of a small blue-ish green pill that I would later affectionately refer to as hospital blues. "It is Oxycontin." he said if you want to try it just remove the coating and crush it up and snort it." I was somewhat familiar with snorting having tried cocaine once at a party. I remember him saying so vividly even today that I can still hear his voice saying the words "It will be the best ten dollars you ever spent."(This turned out to be maybe the most incredibly true and incredibly false statement anyone ever made to me.) He went on to explain he would usually get no less than 30$ for this little half of a pill no larger than a tictac and gave me a few further instructions on how to prepare the pill for snorting. He warned me to maybe not do all of it at once or it might make me nauseous which seemed exceedingly rediculous to me at the time for such a small thing. I mean I had obviously heard of Oxycontin as well as how strong and dangerous they were but I had also heard that marijuana would make me a chronic masterbator and a serial rapist so I didnt pay it much attention. I reluctantly agreed having no history of ever using any kind of opiate or even considering it. But he was a friend who regularly got me stoned and I wanted him to have the weed for the next day and he seemed to not want to owe me.

So later that evening everyone else had left and my roomate had passed out on the couch. I decided I was going to go ahead and follow the instructions he had given me for the pill. I had drank a few beers and smoked copious amount of weed already but I was not really tired so I figured at least it might help me sleep. I grabbed my hard cover copy of "The Dark Tower" which was frequently used as my surface for breaking up weed to roll joints or blunts and wiped off any residue with my t-shirt. I remember dipping my fingers in the cup of beer I was drinking to apply moisture to the blue green coating to remove it. After a little awkward fumbling I was finally able to remove the coating. I laid the tiny half of a pill on the book and pulled a lighter and a crisp 20$ bill from my pocket. I laid the twenty flat over this little thing and took the butt end of my lighter and smashed it. I then ran the smooth side of my lighter up and down the bill a few times as instructed. Grabbed a credit card from the table (incidentally a credit card that would soon be maxed out rather quickly as a direct result of these next few moments.) I took the card and scraped any residue that stuck to the 20$ bill back onto the book then I scraped all the powder into one pile. It seemed to still have peices that were sticking together I thought maybe from using to much moisture earlier to remove the coating so I began chopping at the pile with the edge of the card. That chop-chop-chop noise that a card or razorblade makes against a hard surface or glass that would later become in itself theraputic and part of a ritual.

When I was satisfied that I had gotten it to a fine enough powder to suck up my nose I split it into 3 lines. In retrospect not really knowing what I was doing I would not even say I cut them into lines. It was more like 3 tiny little piles. I rolled up the twenty dollar bill and quickly snorted the first one. It burned a little and tasted bitter and like chemicals (again a taste I would grow to love and crave.) I waited a few minutes and did not feel anything. My friend had told me that even snorting it would take a few minutes for the buzz to hit me. I thought to myself that I should probably wait but I went ahead and blew the 2nd pile anyways. Then almost immediately after that I began to feel it. I sat back in my dirty broke down thrift store recliner and it felt like it just washed over me. I even remember the song that was playing, it was a Nirvana cover of a David Bowie song "The Man Who Sold The World". I had never experienced a feeling like this. It felt like someone had wrapped me in a warm blanket of the finest silks the world had ever known. I sat there in that chair as the rush came and it felt like it was the most amazing feeling I would ever feel in my life. I had never felt more content, more worry free. For some reason I thought of those old ads or posters or whatever from I guess after WWII with the wife and 2 kids and the dog and the Husband still in his navy uniform freshly back from the war with the little white hat standing in front of their house with white picket fence. Maybe it was just because being from America that is what was sold as the height of happiness, of contentment. Again being a 19 yr old kid I have no idea why I thought about propaganda posters from WWII but it is and I thought this must be what those people felt like in that picture. I sat there for what seemed like a while but I really have no idea. I only moved to scratch these strange itches that I was almost happy to have because if felt so wonderful to scratch them. When it began to level off I did the 3rd pile and felt the rush all over again and I sat in that chair until the sun came up with what I am sure was a perpetual smile on my face. I, to this day, still wonder how I did not puke my guts out or even get any nausea whatsoever blowing 40 mg of oxy for my first experience with opiates. Looking back I wish that it had made me sick. I wish before I could do that 2nd pile it would have caused me to empty all the contents of my stomach so violently that I threw the rest of that thing away and cursed my friend for ever giving it to me and swore off all opiates forever. But it didnt... There was only the feeling of wonderful bliss for that entire night. Followed by a lifetime of the slavery of chasing that feeling again for the rest of my life.

After that night I was in love. I felt like I had met my soulmate only she didnt have cute dimples and wear mini-skirts. In fact she was not a she at all but a tiny little ball of compressed powder. And if 'she' were in fact a she. She would have turned out to be a jealous, smothering, all consuming, soul sucking succubus bitch. That demanded all my time and resources and possibly ruined my life. The old cliche that I used to laugh off like it was some line from some extreme ludicrous film like Reefer Madness that "You only have to try it once to become addicted." It was true. Not literally of course. I was not dependant on this substance physically. I did not yet need it. But, for me at least, there was no looking back after that. I wanted that feeling all the time and I never even stopped to consider any consequences. It even got bad right away. I already had a hook up in my friend who was their that night who had turned me on in the first place he had a script for 80's because he had some slipped disc in his back. I was spending every penny I made from that minimum wage job on those hospital blues. When the money ran out he was still there with a freebie until the next check came like the devil in a blue dress.

End part 1-----

Today was a decent day. Took my dogs to the dog park, along with my girlfriend and brother. Scotty, my 5 year old male Westie, was a little escape artist and squeezed himself through the fence and enjoyed a taste of freedom but I quickly grabbed his harness and wrangled him back into the fenced-in area. I wish they'd fix the door to the dog park. Having a secure place for your dogs to run around in is kind of the point of a dog park, isn't it? My dogs are so lazy so they didn't really run around much unless one of us had a treat in our hands and made them chase us.

I also brought a basketball to play around with but there were kids playing at every single hoop and they didn't look like they were leaving any time soon so we just left after the dogs stopped being interested in the dog park. I wanted to shoot some hoops because it's been so fucking long since I played basketball. I was on the varsity team back in Elementary and Middle School and probably would have been on a team in High School but then drugs and alcohol took over. I love standing mid-court and just shooting the ball as hard as I can. It's mostly air balls but there's nothing like making a basket from mid-court. It's fucking awesome.

As for drugs, I'm waiting on a bundle of H that is seemingly never going to come through. Bleh. Not even a text back to be like "sorry, couldn't grab it today" but whatever. I'm kind of middle manning a transaction but it seems like the only thing I'm getting from it is a headache. I've hooked people up before but this is so fucking irritating it's not even funny. I'm about to give Person A their money back and call it a fucking day because Person B is being a crazy fucking whore. I'm doing BOTH of them favors by doing this but I just want to step back, hook them up with each other and watch them go nuclear on each other.

Anyway. Fentanyl and hydromorphone can be added to my list of "tried opioids" ... not sure if I'd seek them out again. Maybe the fentanyl lollipops... it's just so relaxing to lie in bed and twirl a lollipop to the side of your cheek and be high before my feet hit the floor. :D If I ever get over my needle issues, I'd most definitely want to retry hydromorphone IV'd. Otherwise, give me oxycodone, oxymorphone or heroin. Stuff that works (almost) just as good snorted as IV'd.

I lost my coke source for the time being. But I'm thinking that's a good thing. I'm trying to taper down the oxycodone quite a bit. Unless this bundle comes through, then I'm going to have a blast...

I really want to go to the Cloisters for some reason.

I have a box full of baseball/basketball cards that I found in my brother's closet... the junkie bitch in me wants to go through them and see if any of them are worth any money but there's like a shit ton of them and I have no idea who any of these people on the cards are. 8) Oh well.

"Print is a dead medium".
I read that on a blog somewhere.

How am I, a humble man who knows little of anything, but has a firm, almost powerful grasp of the alphabet and its associated language; all of the little phricatives and fonemes hiding between the pages, and poetry that has us moving our tongues as if in some delightfully well-orchestrated dance, suited for anything other than writing? Ah, I know that I swapped the "ph" and "f" just now, but who cares? The butchery of language by txt-speak has long since begun, though it has not yet ended.

Men in the Heian period have written "the young these days, they do not know how to speak properly", and I suppose that must be correct throughout the generations and generations of men and women born into the world, their speech altered by culture and tainted with convenience; the english that I grew up with and decided, in all seriousness, to devote my life to penning with neat handwriting (my handwriting is anything but neat), or what life remains in these toxic bones, is now something different and alien where people say "s wut ru uptu 2dy?" and I'm supposed to understand them.

It's a different language, I suppose: the division of words into their component sounds, which are then created with various letters to sound correct? But we've already done that by assigning a series of sounds; a particular set of sounds that are interesting and clever and full of interesting information that I should probably be able to list in this entry... so, why do it again? Convenience? I can't understand it and I speak the bloody language, or thought I did...

Does any of this have something to do with the youth of today being largely illiterate? I doubt they're illiterate at all! Not one. They can likely all speak, and as texting has largely replaced telephhone conversation as a thing, well, I'd imagine they'd find some way to communicate with others.

Maybe they just see the dictionary of 'correct English' (not that there is one but let's pretend there was for you all know what I mean) as some sort of archaic and draconian collection of mundane linguistic platitudes created with rules that were meant to be bent until their shape became almost unrecognisable in many cases, or simply broken, all decided long ago (decades, if you can fathom it) by old men with beards, and so it must be avoided in order to rebel and be cool?

But, it WASN'T decided by men with beards; there were WOMEN doing some of the deciding, too! It would be an insult to my character for anyone to even suggest that I'd ever consider that, by their very nature, the possibility of a woman growing a thick, sexy beard could be impossible: I am not a sexist and thus there were many men and women whose ability to accumulate large clumps of thick and fearsome facial hair, heretofore unimaginable in nature of curliness, colour and length was legendary and still is, and there and then they decided the rules of language... possibly, I hope, whilst wearing black hooded capes and with a blood sacrifice.

I do like "proper" English, though. There's a word for the dialect and I just can't recall it at this point in time: today's one of those days where I've forgotten everything. I also like the fact that language diversifies over time when left in different environments, such as in the cases of Australia, England, America, and other countries whose populations might not regularly frequent the English-speaking world of England, and so they make up their own rules by consensus, adding some, deleting others, and it's pleasant to even see various dialects being employed, though there's always the moment where one has to alter their dialect to suit the 'class' of the person you're sharing a dialogue with, which is what I've seen many man shamelessly do, as if speaking in a normal, middle-class dialect is offensive..!

But anyway, books are dead.
We have machines that can now store millions of them, or rather, their contents, and read every word aloud into our ears, so that we need never look either at their ancient and dusty pages, stored for millenia and wondered over and enjoyed, nor the headache-inducing and sleek, shiny screens that these devices come with.

Anyway, what should I do now that my profession is in danger? Flee?
I just have to change things a little: presenting things in eBook form is potentially far better for me. No agents or publishers getting in my way, nobody telling me that they'd rather I changed something to something else, and I can write whatever I want, regardless of popular opinions or what Dan Brown's got on the shelves these days - if Tom Hanks refuses the film's script, Nicholas Cage will pick it up! - and so now I can appeal to a larger audience without having to pay a penny, I can give people a taste without them needing to pick anything up: just a click!

And who can resist a click for something free and interesting? The Nigerian Viagra salesmen with the trick to looking 30 years younger using a secret household recipe in just 6 weeks can't be wrong if they're still playing that game today; the same game from 20 years ago...

So, with the antique writing desk and various writing utensils I've acquired, surrounded (and leaning on) other books, some masterpieces and some trash, I'll try to make my mark somewhere in the middle: clever trash, or a trashy masterpiece, which will keep everyone happy, especially since I'll then be able to make printed copies available. But, unfortunately, everyone's having this brainwave and doing things the same way. Soon someone will come up with something so incredible and simple that I'll cover my face with my hand, just like Picard, and sigh and wonder why I wasn't willing to squeeze a few more moments of thought out of my mind onto the subject of sales. But, still, it's not that much of a problem...

So, the language is toast, but that's what everyone's been saying since language began.
Books are out, though they'll always be dear to many...
And writing is still a potential profession, though 100 years ago far fewer people could do it.
I should celebrate illiteracy statistics; it means less competition in the years to come!

a continuation...

So it was that I made plans to head up to Luzon and my sublet condo in Makati. Naturally Lovely, my new paramour, had expected that I would be spending New Years Eve with her. I quickly shut her down by claiming to have a long standing appointment at the Israeli Embassy in Makati, a municipality comprising part of the gargantuan urban sprawl known far and wide as "Metro Manila." Being a virgin kept Lovely from joining me on the trip (Thank G-D). Her father actually would have let her go since we are getting "married," but as a Barangay Captain (village chief)- or in the present at least, attempting to regain his position as village chief- meant that the behavior of all four of his unmarried daughters must be well beyond reproach...ergo, no Luzon.

The preceding provides the backstory for my New Years Eve busride from Manila to Angeles City, to meet Joysa for our hastily arranged "date" at her Aunt Gemma's home. I had hoped to gently let Joysa down at what we had planned to be a beautiful, but quiet holiday evening at the rooftop pool at Citiland De La Rosa, the sublet condo I keep in Makati. Going to Angeles City definitely threw me off kilter. Alcohol and family tension are never good together. As a foreigner everything I said and did would be held under a microscope and when I gave Joysa the old heave ho the family would be sure to see Joysa upset and at that point all bets were off.

On Mindanao I am always well armed with, at the very least, my Jericho 9MM sidearm. Usually I tote an AR15, an assault rifle (civilain version of the American Military's piece d'resistance, the M16). Off of Mindanao however, things are much different. Philippine Gun Laws actually do permit a Foreigner to posses a fully liscenced sidearm- IF one is willing and able to grease half a dozen greedy palms. The far simpler endeavour is to have one's Filipina wife obtain the requisite liscence. As long as she is with you, you can carry "her" sidearm although it is technically illegal. Only shotguns and sidearms are legal for civilians...or so the story goes. Roughly, every two years or so, the sitting President will launch a weapons amnesty programme that allows one to grandfather in semi and fully automatic assault rifles, with no limit as to how many.

The liscence is only for Possesion, not for Carry. Still, in Mindanao noone outside the largest cities is ever called on the carpet for carrying an assault rifle down the street. The result.is the heaviest concentration of weaponry in all of Southeast Asia, and one of the highest concentrations in the world. Of course there are also dozens of well armed paramilitaries and insurgent organisations as well and they also have recoiless rifles, mortars, hand, rifle, and rocket propelled grenades (RPGs) into the mix for a pot pourri of death and destruction.

Travel north of Mindanao and it is a much different story. While there is, in selected areas, a fair amount of armed warfare attributed to the NPA (New People's Army, the Maoist insurgent organisation) and its myriad offshoots (chief among them the RPA, Revolutionary Proletariat Army, a Leninist clique), civilians do not openly carry weaponry. Therefore, when travelling north of Mindanao I almost always do so unarmed. The one exception to this being Cebu where Rizza's parents also have a house, and where her father Mario's family live. Of course I rarely travel to Cebu now because that is where Rizza absconded and where she remains, living with her lover. The rare times I do go to the island I avoid its capital, Cebu City, and relegate my visit to the adjoining municipalities of Compostela and Danao. The former is Mario's hometown and it is there, with his siblings (Rizza's aunts and uncles), that we drop our bags before heading to the latter town, Danao.

In my travels I have only ever found a single place that even approximates Danao. Peshawar, in Pakistan, is home to a famed bazaar, known in English, as the "Smugglers Bazaar." Actually, it sits just outside the city, directly on the border with Pakistan's Northwest Fronteir Province. It is part of another, much larger market actually within the city limits. Northwest Frontier Province is, and always has been, offlimits to foreigners. Although today the main justification is the Taliban Insurgency, centered there and in Waziristan Region, the province has always been wracked by mind numbing violence related to the Pathan, or, Pashtun Tribe, which aside from being the dominant ethnicity in neighbouring Afghanistan, also comprises the most powerful grouping in Northwest Province.

Smugglers Bazaar is seperated from the bazaar proper by a cast iron swinging boom and two modestly armed Pakistani soldiers. Entry can be obtained by a special permit issued by the local government. The permit has never been particularly easy to obtain even long before the Taliban reared its ignorant head. One must not only grease a multitude of palms but also pay for an armed squad of Pakiatani soldiers and an "official" driver, in addition to an "official" guide to accompany the intrepid visitor. A much simpler method is to just engage one of many local Pathan Tribesmen to "guide" your visit to the bazaar. When I visited in the mid-1990s this only set me back $10.00, in US Currency. Whose to say what it would cost today?

The most interesting thing for me was, naturally, the heroin. In small market stalls eager shope keepers would beguile you with samples of #2 (freebase) and #4 (hydrochloride), offering guaranteed delivery to a wide range of nations for a minimum purchase of one kilogramme. Opium and hashish are also plentiful. For purposes of my current entry though, I am really only concerned with the bazaar's weapons.

to be continued...