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The past few days have been great. My pain level has been down. The weather has been beautiful. Me and my hubbie worked in the yard and have a garden with different types of veggies. We planted a peach tree, plum tree, and a black berry bush in the back yard. I have roses and two Rose of Sharon trees in the front. I'm waiting to plant my avocados when they produce leaves. I have four of them. They say it takes 14 years for a avacado tree to produce fruit, but I think you need at least two for pollination. But idk. I spent some really good quality time with my hubbie. I smoked less cigs too. Last night we put a gas grill together and we had fun. Today at work was awesome. I had some new patients they were really interesting. I feel really good and happy. I love my life

I got quarter from my buddy today, He said it was blue berry beaster bud. I disregarded the name and bought it with out looking at. When I got home to smoke it, it looked like half the buds in it were dyed fucking blue! It has to be food coloring or something cause the inside of bud isnt blue at all. It smells like blue berrys though. So I am thinking it might be artifiicual blue berry flavoring.. It's sugar coated to that little rat. What do you think it could be?!

I have made several attempts to socialize recently. I seem to fail at every one. Of the 3 recent attempts to talk to 'friends' only one of them I have actually enjoyed.

The other two left me feeling claustrophobic and with little to say without it feeling stiff and forced. This led to awkward silences, something that would never have happened a month or two ago.

I have recently started spending quite a lot of time alone indoors cause i didn't have much money. This has brought me to the conclusion that trying to get on with everybody isn't what I want, as pretty much everyone I know bores the living shit out of me and therefore I would much rather be alone enjoying my own company.

It seems I am finally learning who I am, instead of trying to be everyones friend.

raining today again, it may be true that to carry on you have no right to be depressed, but what you do will makes you more likely to be depressed. fucking catch-22.

well then it is quite simple, does no matter what negative input and outer pressure can be, keep output positive always. forget about yourself.

Summary:Learn how to buy the best iPad 3 Screen Protector with this helpful buying guide.
Among all of the accessories available for the iPad 3, screen protectors are among the most useful for protecting your investment (right up there with cases) . So what makes a great iPad screen protector and what makes a lousy one?

For starters, stay away from any $4.99 screen protectors you find online or elsewhere. You definitely get what you pay for and do not want to waste time with these types. Expect to pay at least $15 to $20 for a quality iPad screen protector. Also avoid any iPad screen protectors that are not custom sized for your specific model. Make sure the product packaging clearly calls out “Fits iPad 3″ or something similar.

When you decide to look for a screen protector for your iPad 3, there are several important features to consider. Some screen protectors offer anti-glare protection which can be useful when using the iPad outside or in bright areas. The drawback to these screen protectors is that the same matte finish appearance that provides the anti-glare properties can also reduce the crispness or clarity of the screen. If you are interested in an anti-glare protector, take your iPad to the store and try one out before buying to make sure you are happy with the resulting appearance.

Another feature that can be nice in an iPad 3 screen protector is anti-smudge. Given that you are constantly touching the iPad screen and sometimes not with the cleanest of hands, anti-smudge or anti-fingerprint technology can be a big plus.

As a final tip, take care when installing the screen protector as they cling tightly to the screen and can be difficult to remove once installed on the iPad.

I'm trying something different this time. I will try to aim 500mg of Tramadol (not more) and 375mg of Lyrica, 2mg of Clonazepam and 4mg 2C-E sniffed (just as little and just as much).

T - 1H
I drank a Red Bull and half a bottle of Gatorade. Stomach: empty.
Proceeded to took a bath.

T + 1H
Already did 300mg Tramadol spaced in 1 hour, 225mg Lyrica, 2mg Clonazepam and sniffed 4mg 2C-E. Within 5 minutes or so, so little 2C-E bumped a little my heart rate and body temperature.

T +1H 15'
Did 100mg more Tramadol. Still can't really feel the 2C-E (maybe just a little some dots in my vision and the colors.. but it's very subtle), so I'm doing 3mg more 2C-E sniffed. (Reaching 7mg 2C-E sniffed in total so far - and I'm not planning on take it anymore than that).
I also opened a bottle of Pepsi Kick (a kind of Pepsi with extra Caffeine, I think it's only sold in some countries)

T +1H 30'
There it is, I am playing with my PS3 and the music suddenly began to sound much more melodical and depth, I even tried to "focus" my mind in the music and could feel nice sensations in my body as the tunes changed.
Gonna take the last 100mg Tramadol with Pepsi Kick to reach 500mg for now. I think I hit the spot in dosages for now.

T +3H
I had a great time playing video games. Both the mild pleasure in my legs and how depth it felt the music as the tunes flowed in my ears, made a very pleasant experience. Plus, was fun.
In some hours the temperature will began to drop, so I changed my mind about the Tramadol dosage, I'm gonna take 100mg more and 2mg Clonazepam (I'm already on a lot of Tramadol, also I'm almost sure the 2C-E, as little as I did, will overpower the benzodiazepine, I mean, the Clonazepan won't 'kill' the 2C-E effects).

T +3H 40'
I did 150mg Lyrica to reach 375mg as decided before, and also 2mg more 2C-E sniffed... sorry, but I like the pretty colors. It's fun how my heart rate spike when I sniff this stuff; nothing scary, and I'm doing so little that I even don't need of Clonidine.
I also did 100mg more Tramadol, so that would be 700mg so far.

T +4H 30'
I think the Lyrica made a big difference here. I can feel the 2C-E, both visually (very mild, but nice enough) and mentally, I can also feel the pleasure of the Tramadol, any music sounds and feel reaaally nice, and I can focus on any task. I didn't think I could focus at anything on more 2C-E and so much Tramadol, but I think the Lyrica made the experience if mild, more pleasant.
I also just did 100mg more Tramadol, so that would be 800mg so far.

T +5H
I just reach 900mg Tramadol, and also sniffed 2mg more 2C-E. Let's keep this up. The Lyirica has made so far this "trip" very enjoyable.
I think I will need 1 ug Clonidine now...
Btw, just did 2mg Clonazepam. Too much Tramadol, I just fear seizures (already had 2 in the past because of too much Tramadol)

T +5H 30'
Although I can feel the 2C-E much strongly, I just forgot to take a Clonidine, so indeed I think the Lyrica chemically made a strong difference.
I'm also feeling focused and I think straight, even while I'm tripping balls and feeling more pleasure because of the Tramadol as the time goes.
This is very cool so far.

T +7H
Still feeling the 2C-E, but the euphoria I had seems to have disappeared, so I took 100mg more Tramadol (reaching 1000mg) and 150mg Lyrica. Feeling a little hungry because of the Lyrica. I also sniffed 2mg more 2C-E.
At last the weather is cooling a little.
Oh, and.. I'll take 1ug Clonidine just in case.
I'm also taking 2mg Clonazepam because of the amount of Tramadol, together with the 2C-E messing up my braind, I don't want a overflow of Serotonin, thus, seizures.

T +8H 30'
I feel good. A little hungry because of the Lyrica. The 2C-E it's moderately strong now. I will enjoy the overwhelming pleasure of 2C-E and Tramadol a little more.
I wish I had some Naproxen..
Also, I will take 2mg more Clonazepam. Now because I want to relax. And I know it won't do much against the 2C-E effects. In this case, that's good.

T +10H
I think it's time to end the "trip". I had one of the best sundays ever. I think I hit the spot with dosages.

Now, to cool down, I did 2mg Alprazolam and 1ug Clonidine. Obviously I'm strongly feeling the O-desmethyltramadol (a significantly more potent μ-opioid agonist than Tramadol itself).

Well, I guess that's it.
Lyrica, Tramadol and 2C-E. Strongly moderate your doses, and you'll feel like in heaven, but still mentally straight. Some psychedelic, lots of fun and lots of pleasure.

A while after I walked to the gas station not too far from myy friends house where I crashed.

Second time being there and the cashier is real fuckin pretty. First time I went I was a bit strung out but got a little convo started. This time there was a filthy mexican around 40 trying hit on her (she looked 23ish), I got my shit and went to the counter, abit mystified about where to slide my card I got that shit through. I wasn't all there but I overheard something about her being young, she was asked something along the lines of "but I'm too young aren't I?"

She wanted me to say yes but I hadn't realized she was talking to me at all, I look up at her- completely dumbfounded, eyes gazing and said "huh?"

A big grin appears that soon turns into laughter, just like that she knew everything that happened the previous night.

If you actually frequently lease a chiribita machine -- or spend too much time at parties driving margarita machine a blender -- making the tailor made... There is nothing such as offering a cool, cold soda to your guests in the summer season celebration. But this is not possible to make lots of frozen drinks for hundreds of guests using a regular food blender. If you wish to create simple chiribita to remain this flowing then you need to utilize a chiribita making machine instead connected with a blender.

she sells seashells down by the seashore

Last year after Paula died I wanted to get a tattoo of an old skool diamond on my neck or behind my ear, in memory of her and the things she taught me.

The guy in 119 at that time gave me a bad vibe so I didn't get it done.

When I went to see the tattoo design for the brunette pin-up the design included an old skool diamond on the pin-up's neck...

And the guy that's doing the tattoo could not have known about my idea... as I was going in to ask about getting it done.

I don't know what's going on with these weird experiences lately but I can't seem to switch them off.

I had two dreams last night. One that F got a girlfriend... and another that Sam, who is one of the only stable influences in my life, died I have death dreams a lot and they're not normally literal. Not sure about the F one though. Although I imagine he will get a girlfriend soon as there's no way he's interested in me. Which is a shame.

I have no idea what it is I search for that comes between the importance of my health...and the reckless disregard I often have for it. Something to boot-start my seratonin? A search for common ground, the justification for it, unaware the world changed around me. With my wounds to the front I guess it's a common mistake to forget there exists the risk of further wounding...to the back. Rattling at my dull, jaded bones like derelict barn doors waltzing to the symphonic tunes of an ill wind that reinvents me as a dull pantomime of myself. I sleep with the fear that I might one day fall into so many pieces the unravelling would prove impossible to halt.

It is so heavy behind the monstrous boundary walls of my own spirit. My sins leave me penniless yet curious as to how far my self destruction will stretch before rebounding backwards into me....opening me up for evermore. A self inflicted horror Ignorant suicide. Conscious deconstruction. Fading to dusky awareness, tumbling below the radar. From sharp witted wordsmith to vague generator of meaningless lyrical rhetoric in the space of a heartbeat. As quick as that. My language now nothing but a virus. The dream sequence of life falls backwards into deeper sleep leaving me awake and locked outside the rapid eye movements once driven by the directions my imagination steered in. Now I must bear the wounds my complacency pierced into me. How endless the flow of my life juices seems to be, cascading from the hole like oceans of wasted opportunity and reservoirs of regret, filling the spaces in front of me with watery reminders of my failures. My soul is lost in that sea.

The realisation is worse than a heartbreak. My inner sighs almost hurricane me, pale eyed and sinking in worthless flotsam, upon dense maelstroms of long, black coagulations of a wreath unfolding within me. It’s a mad sea that awaits my imminent demise, threading like dragonflies that murmur a ballad of failure upon my undelightful gallows of landscape.

Snarling monster please retreat from the wine of my daylight and allow me the dignity to fall apart alone and unwitnessed. Just a shadow of the man I should be.

So fucking weird. Saw a photo that reminded me of something. Came on here to have a look at a blog related to it and to post a poem called the psychic bullet which is unrelated to the blog subject. Response made to blog literally two minutes before I decided to look at it, and I hadn't even received notification that there had been a response. I hate, hate, hate when I do that. It's like when I pick the phone up before it rings or know what people are going to ask me about.

Anyway. The gig was really good but three hours in the city did not really feel like long enough for me. I ended up going for a pizza (something I am really not allowed to have due to the amount of things I'm intolerant to in it) and walking home listening to some music on my android. A car passed me and some random guy shouted "bitch" out the window really loud at me. I'm a lot of things but I'm pretty sure I'm not a bitch and I'm pretty sure that the guy was a stranger... I'm sad to say that it actually upset me a bit. Not like, crying and shaking upset, it just made me feel a bit shit that I make complete strangers react that way.

I'm starting to feel like I want to leave this town and move back to the city. I've been an emotional wreck lately and all the factors that are getting me down are related to things and people in this town. I've got a few really good friends but by being in Edinburgh I could probably cut out some of the things that get to me. I'm such a sensitive and emotional person, and although I find it easy to forgive, I can never quite forget when someone has hurt me. I came to this town because I needed somewhere to go, fast, also because my Granny was dying, and also because the man I loved was down here. I'm now in a more stable position, my Granny passed away nearly three years ago and the man I love... well I can't say I don't love him because I probably always will, a bit, but I don't want to be with him and seeing him and seeing his girlfriend around time just makes me feel shit about myself.

I've been single for three years and I am starting to think that it's because I can't move on while I'm here surrounded by memories of him. I don't consciously think of him now but sometimes memories drift in and out like radio static and I can't stop them. If I stay here then I'm probably never going to get past it.

I can't really afford to move and I'm scared of how much it will cost... the logistics... but I need to do something because my soul is caged in here and I can't seem to completely move on.

A friend of mine might be buying shards of mdma and he was wondering how to get it into the poweder form. He's buying it in shards so he knows it isnt getting cut with anything. And its his first time buying it like this

fuuuck saaakes! I'm just fucking going insane! aha jknn I dunno, if I explain to you...would you think so too? I'm too embarrassed though lol....aha well.....everytime I think of me and my bf, when we had our first time....I feel weird down there! I know, I'm just horny or something lol but it feels that way for a long time! and I guess, or no...I don't guess. I just can't wait until he comes visits me again! so that can happen again lol ...uhm, I think I'm turning into a slut lol shit fuck! I am not a slut...eh, but sometimes I just kinda show that I am feelin horny. I only get that way when I think of me and my bf...it was so awesome. I just keep remembering how he thrusted, like how did it feel for him?? it must of felt good~ and that makes me turned on and happy that it felt that good for him. I just want to...again. haha and I'm pree eager to do this again with...idk but fuck that! I only love my bf! I do....aah, I just can't wait!!! I'm so horny about it! it's not even funny....I wonder if he feels the same way? haha nah I don't think so! but yes, thats whats goin on for me this week! so this weekend he's coming down again to visit me! FINALLY FUCK! haha so I'm just watchin porn to relax myself or getting high. I get too horny I don't want no one to see me like that so I just get high....but, also when I'm high as a kite I start to think about us again and I get really horny! like, what the hell?? but yeah....just saying, byeee~~

So, got up today and felt a bit crappy. Had a minor wig-out about going to a gig in Edinburgh to see my friends and washed my hands of it. Then my friend told me to get a grip and sort out a bus to come up. I committed to going so I can't not go.

I went down the street to get a new outfit to try and keep me feeling confident as I'm suffering with really bad social anxiety at the moment. I am looking like shit today. Hair is dirty and messy and clothes were my slobbiest offering.

Bumped into my childhood best friend which was nice, had a quick look at some clothes with her then went on my way. I got to the store where I found the dress that I bought and who do I see... my exes girlfriend. I don't hate her because she's with him, I hate her for the way she befriended me and deceived me in order to get closer to him. She makes me sick. What kind of a person does that? It all happened over a year ago but when someone pisses me off, they REALLY piss me off and I will never be ok with what she did to me. Thankfully I managed to avoid her.

It left me feeling really crappy about myself though. She's about 6 years younger than me and really small and skinny. I feel so fat and gross, I could cry. I have never been slim but when I was her age I looked really good and I haven't been the same since I quit taking so many drugs, I've put on weight and I don't ever feel comfortable. I've started losing weight again and I even fit into a size 14 dress today which I haven't done for about 8 months. I guess if I'm not happy with my weight then I can lose weight... I just need to stay vigilant as I've got a habit of eating my feelings. Because of my blood sugar problems I have to eat regularly and I think sometimes that means I end up over-eating. I don't want to be like her, and I don't want my ex back... I just want to feel like me again instead of this chubby lump that I am just now. I've no confidence because of it... and I know how much happier I'd be if I wasn't so afraid of everything.

Well, I've decided to get myself dressed up nice and I'm going to go to the gig in Edinburgh tonight. I have to prove to myself that I can do it, and if I don't like it, I can always leave and get an earlier bus home. I'll be home by 1am (ish) at very latest and I've got cider in the house for a treat when I get in, I can sleep late tomorrow.

I just need to remind myself that only I can change this mindset. Nobody else can do it for me.

Well, it's been about a half million years or so since I've posted to my blog, and since I've been brought on as a mod in TDS as well I've been asked by a few people as to my story with regard to therapy. So, two birds, one stone...

A little background perhaps first? I'll try to keep it quick.

In my earliest days, I was a very social kid, who loved to chat with people. Never had a problem approaching people, played with random kids wherever; life was good. But as I got a bit older, I came to realize that something was different for me. I didn't speak the way others did. In time, it got worse. By the time I went to school, I had developed a full-blown stutter, and by grade 1 I was beginning to get into using facial tics to try to 'force out' stuck syllables. Among severe stutterers this is actually quite common, and adds a great deal to the stigma of speech.

Also around grade 1, I asked to be put into French immersion, because I thought that it was a cool language, and my parents noticed that I had a knack for picking up other languages. Ironic, no? As it turned out though, going to a new school along with an increasingly severe speech impediment was a rather bad idea. I was immediately labelled as a 'retard' (such words were still used at the time, at least by the kids), and the school was trying tooth and nail to get my IQ tested. My parents fought tooth and nail against that, since they knew that I was bright, but they were only able to hold off until grade 2.

Still, within a month of arriving at school and being branded as I was, I managed to go from knowing 'cereal box' French to the head of the class. So, I was the 'tard who was smarter than most other kids in my class... not great for socializing, I can tell you. Pretty much from then on I was bullied relentlessly. By grade 3 I was entirely isolated from my peers, and retreated into books, science and math.

This continued with varying severity, despite receiving treatment for my stutter, until grade 6 when my teacher (also the vice principal of the school) decided to get in on the fun. I won't go into detail, but he basically spent the year doing his best (and more or less succeeding) in breaking me. But hey, the cool kids liked him though, so that was okay? The only reason I stayed at that school once my parents found out, about 2/3 of the way through the year, was because it would be silly to change schools just before moving to Jr. high. They did their best to get him fired, but since they couldn't, they made his life as miserable as possible. Unfortunately, he all but failed me, but that was fought and bla bla bla.

I've gone over this because even though for the most part the bullying stopped in Jr high (although I never really had a good social circle until late high school), I was carrying that set of experiences around with me. The transition into pubescent depression masked the clinical depression and nascent anxiety disorders well, and by the time I realized that there was a larger problem I was in my early 20s and falling apart.

(to be continued...)

tonight I found the motivation/desire, wrote some shit down and liked the end result. Just felt like puttin' where some like-minded folk might see it....



head twisted...
thoughts warped and inconsistent...
Bitter, Hate and Spite: the only friends that ever visit
left rem'niscent of the past,
all the laughs I used to have
wonderin' will my happiness ever make a comeback?
I'm always hopin' that it do
but, really, I fear the truth is that
my days of constant smilin' flew away with my youth
so what the fuck am I to do?
I used to think, "Just drug abuse!"
but after 10 plus 2 years that's not an option I'ma choose
and now I'm sittin' here confused because that's all I ever knew...
and my closest associates, same holds true for them too
but I'm not holdin' 'em responsible
I just know it's impossible
to stop a bad habit when homies always got a pocketful
so now I've severed ties to anyone who played a party to my slow self-destruction...
now I'm like fuck 'em
my soul's sittin' stuck in this crossroads, this junction
with nothin' but lint and an empty wallet in my pocket...
nowhere but up to go, I just need to find me a rocket
or a step-stool or a ladder
I mean really it don't matter
as long as I travel far, far from this fuckin' rat-hole
where constant battles have turned me into a straight asshole...
a rat bastard capable of stealin' from kin
and ignorin' the screamin' voice yellin' objections within
never again will I bring a tear to my mother's eye
or a clench to my father's fist, make my sister or brother cry
that must've been some other guy cuz I'd never do that
my family means the world and forever I knew that
nevertheless addiction's been my life's constant theme and lookin' back now
.....I can't believe that was me......

T-2 days:
20mg 2C-E in a gelatin blotter (how am I supposed to call them?) with 1000mg Tramadol (split in 6 hours) with 4-6mg Clonazepam to avoid seizures and 2mg Alprazolam because of muscle tension. 3ug Clonidine was needed to control hearth rate and pressure.

The effects were overwhelming, I could see very nice OEVs, specially colors, everything was painted beatifully, but in particular the CEVs were really intense, and I mean, really really intense.
But I focused in the pleasure of the Tramadol while listening to music on my bed.
I noticed that I had two ways to enjoy the opioid pleasure: the normal one (doing nothing just listening to music while feeling pleasure) and the other way, focus the 2C-E (I don't think I'm the only person in this world who can do this) in the pleasure that the opioid was giving me. I began to feel that as some tunes chaned, the pleasure "filled up" in my legs strongly, leaving me almost "exhaust" of pleasure when the song would end.
Then start again with another song.

T- today:
20mg 2C-I in a gelatin blotter with 1000mg Tramadol again split in 6 hours with 6-8mg Clonazepam and no Alprazolam (almost no muscle tension with 2C-I). Again, 3ug Clonidine was needed to control hearth rate and pressure.

2C-I it's a very friendly substance compared to 2C-E, to the point that it makes me think how wonderful it's the chemistry that just a letter makes such a huge difference.

The effects were never overwhelming, I could see some nice OEVs, some nice colors too, and again in particular more strong CEVs than OEVs definitely.
But I focused in the pleasure of the Tramadol awhile listening to music on my bed again.
Again too, I noticed that I had two ways to enjoy the opioid pleasure: the normal one (doing nothing just listening to music while feeling pleasure) and the other way, focus the 2C-I in the pleasure that the opioid was giving me. But the difference this time it's that the mental process was much easier and almost automatic listening to some songs in particular.

2C-E left me with some hangover, I don't know 2C-I yet, but the times I had do it, it never left me a hangover. And this was amazing if you have a life and have to go to work or college the next day.


In these trips I used large doses of Tramadol (thus, metabolizing large doses of O-Desmethyltramadol, or M1), but again, I'm almost sure the "mental process" using 2C-E and 2C-I applies with any similar opioid/opiate.

Woah! I almost forgot one thing. I don't know if it just me, but I feel particular more smart (like, I can solve things at a lower level) more easily on 2C-I. Sometimes this helps me a lot with my work. This does not happen with 2C-E.

However, because of the potential of both drugs, and no matter how gentle and wonderful is 2C-I, I will always prefer 2C-E. You need to get to know how to mentally handle it, but it possibilities in the human mind and body are... unlimited.

What's the deal e oh with 4-MeO-PCP? Can a pimp like me cook some great pills with it? How??

a continuation...

The aforementioned Orang Asli woman was merely the last to join what had become an ever increasing list of potential lovers I had recently begun considering. There were the two virgins, one, age 17 and like Rizza a Bisaya, the other 18 and a Higaon-on like Jackie. The Philippines is really strange when it comes to the issue of age. A girl will graduate highschool by age 16 and is often an RN before she turns 20...yet the minimum age for marriage is 18. In fact, a girl cannot marry without both parents' permission before the age of 25. Of course this only applies to the nation's Christian majority. MUSLIMS and Animists literally have no minimum ages and quite often newborns are married to each other or there will be cases such as a 3 year old girl marrying a 60 year old man.

If one has sex with a Christian girl under the age of 18, even with her family's permission, it is unequiovocally a case of Rape and in the Philippines that means Natural Life in an unimaginably grim prison...though before capital punishment was abolished three years ago, Natural Life would have been a cherished gift.

In fact Rizza became my wife at age 15, just as she graduated highschool, albeit only vis a Jewish Wedding. We later did the Philippine ceremony after she had come of age. I am lucky I was never subjected to prosecution, but we didnt live in the Philippines after marriage, only returning in 2007 after I had retired from the IDF, the Israeli Military. Having dodged that bullet I am in no hurry to once again dip below that minimum threshold and to be frank, I really am not looking to have such a young woman...I crave stability and raising a wife is not something I would care to do.

The 18 year old virgin, Jessah, lives in Iligan City in Mindanao's Lanao del Norte Province. A nursing student, Jessah has a very sharp intellect and is attractive, even if not my usual taste. I just dont have any real desire to follow through with the burgeoning relationship. Simply too young. The last girl on the list was a 23 year old girl who lives in Butuan City on Mindanao's northern coast, roughly 110km north of my home in San Francisco, aka San Franz.

This girl works in the family business, a bakery. Given the geographical proximity I had been seeing the girl at least twice a week when, on one of my visits to Butuan I accompanied Rizza's father to the port in the adjacent municipality of Nasipit to pick up one of his sons from the arriving ferry from Cebu.

As luck would have it, the ferry was delayed and so we decided to go get a bite to eat. As we searched out a suitable resturant my cellphone began sputtering out. Seeing a cellphone store I entered and asked about getting my phone charged. Mario, Rizza's father came with me and as it turned out, he knew the propetier quite well. A local politician at the village level the man has at least a tacit role in that town's paramilitary.

As the two men back slapped each other and guffawed a motorcycle pulled up outside and two very attractive girls walked in. Both young ladies were daughters of the politician store owner. As they were introduced to me I suddenly realised that in fact I already knew of the girls and their father. The family is fairly well known for producing beauty queens. Of the man's five daughters, all had won major contests and a couple had become well known models.

Naturally I couldnt take my eyes off of either girl but was quickly rid of any type of idea when both began talking to their father about their respective boyfriends coming to a get together at the family home. My hopes dashed, I hardly paid attention as Mario agreed to follow the man home to partake in get together at the politician's home.


To be contunued...

I've talked to a lot of people and everyone has an opinion of who's at fault for the current levels of drug abuse in this country. How do others on this site feel, is it the people who use them that are causing the problem? Is a user the evilness, or the substance they used? Possibly the knowledge they had of the chemical, controlled by those around them, and what they were led to believe at the time they tried it. Bill Clinton smoked pot and George W. Bush used cocaine, yet they both have run our country for 2 terms, do we just like to elect villains? Maybe the dealers who push them or the people who make them? I think it's society that regulates how we view them or control them. I read a post about a man who ingested Bath Salts, then pulled a gun on his wife and kids before shooting himself in the head. The wife blames the makers of the bath salts; they caused this by trying to make a buck. Yet I my mind, I don't think they people who designed the salts were thinking it would be used to "trip on." To me the only things that did what they were designed to do, in that situation, was the bullets and the gun. The man made the decision to use the salts in the wrong way, and society who regulated that the salts are legal and okay to use but meth is a horrible thing, so you're a monster if you use it. Had that man used meth, meth being designed for getting high, would he have taken the same actions? Many people want to point blame when tragic accidents happen but that doesn't ever fix anything, how do we as a society take a progressive action to improve the views as a whole in hopes to slow down, because we can never stop it, the destruction of our humanity though the use of mental and physical changing drugs?

does your drug dealer really have the authority to not sell you the drugs that you want because he thinks you're addicted to them? i don't think i'm addicted to cocaine just because, on the occasional weekend, i like to do a couple g's.. i can't even afford to have an actual addiction. and he's the one who had me addicted to k for like 8 months cause he'd give me killer shit for super cheap and always invite me over all the time to do mass amounts. and now he gets mad when i try to buy a half g of coke after only having done a half the previous night? i know i shouldn't be doing it but it's not out of control at all. i honestly do mushrooms more than i do cocaine.

a continuation...

Aunt Gemma is what Filipinos call a "Japasuki," or in her particular case a retired Japasuki. The term sounds alot nicer than "Cock Sucker," or even, "Blow Job Queen" because that is indeed the Japasuki's colourful job description. Oftentimes, teenaged Filipinas are offered jobs in Japan as "Entertainers" and told that they will be doing song and dance numbers in Japanese night clubs. Gullible as gullible gets, these teenaged girls step off of the plane in Japan and after clearing Customs and Immigration, are strongarmed by Yakuza handlers into surrendering all travel documents. Taken to a dingy dormitory where they are kept under guard, a Filipina Mamasan goes to work breaking down whatever defences the young Filipina may have...because of course not all arriving "Entertainers" disembark believing that they will actually be doing choreographed dance numbers in some un-named Japanese dive.

Oftentimes the girls know exactly what is in store for them. In a nation without a social welfare net, where the average family subsists on less than $3 daily, the ability to draw $25 a night is just about irresistable...even if it inevitably involves smiling as an elderly Japanese man pees on you. Still, even today, with most Third World hellholes like the Philippines being well entrenched in the Information Age, more than a few young ladies actually do believe they are being plucked from a squatter slum to do costumed dance numbers despite their having absolutely no dance or voice training whatsoever...and standing a foot shorter than the shortest professional chorusgirls. To describe the average Filipina as "naive" would be an understatement.

Whether-or-not Gemma was as naive as those starry eyed Filipinas, I can't say. What I do know though, is that fourteen years after landing in Osaka, Gemma returned to the Philippines as the kept woman of an elderly Japanese man. Joining the now teenaged son ahe had left behind was Gemma's young daughter, Maikhee, or "Khee" for short. Gemma, her son and Khee then moved into a cinderblock home built for them by her elderly patron who conveniently- for Gemma- only leaves his family in Japan once every 18 months to "collect" on his "investment."

As the most financially secure of all Joysa's maternal relatives, Aunt Gemma serves as the de facto clan matriarch. When Tita (Auntie) Gemma says jump you don't even ask how high, you just start moving. Seeing as how I had more or less decided to let Joysa go, I could not in good conscience start demanding that she throw a wrench into that family dynamic. So it was that I hopped the Philippine equivalent of a commuter bus and made my way north out of Makati in Metro Manila en route to Angeles City and what would prove to be one of the more interesting New Years Eves I have ever had.

Some time ago I wrote about how I had decided to start stepping back into the wonderful world of romance...I wrote about a few girls who had all come to my attention. One was an Orang Asli from Malaysia. The term "Orang Asli" is the Politically Correct term used to describe what anthropologists usually label "Proto-Malayan Tribes." The first inhabitants of peninsular Malaysia were the Negrito. Next to arrive were the Orang Asli, rain forest tribes who physically look quite different than the Modern Malay...then came the Malay. So it is that Orang Asli are deemed to be "indigenous."

I have quite a bit of experience in Eastern Malaysia, which is how Malaysia describes its non-peninsular territory. Sabah State, on Borneo, is 20 minutes by motorboat from the islands ringing Mindanao's southernmost island province, Tawi Tawi. In fact, Sabah is home to nearly half a million Mindanowans, most undocumented having arrived as refugees from our fair island's decades old insurgencies. The Sabah - Tawi Tawi nexus is a smuggler's paradise but enough about that...

On Sabah, the equivalent of the Orang Asli are known as "Bumiputra," a term that politically active Orang Asli find eggregious since it was externally imposed by the Malaysian Government. As most of my sojourns to Malaysia have been relegated to Sabah, I of course use the term Bumiputra. On my last trip to Manila, again on a flight, I was seated next to an attractive woman. The flight between Butuan on Mindanao and Makati in Metro Manila is little more than an hour, but apparently it is sufficient enough time to engage myself in a major faux paux.

Our conversation began innocently enough; introducing each other I discovered that she was in Mindanao for an ASEAN trade conference, "ASEAN" being the regional trade bloc. The woman, 30 years old, was an economist with an indigenous-centric NGO. As conversations inevitably do in this part of the world, where religion is interchangable with ethnicity, she revealed she was Protestant. A Protestant in Malaysia is alnost always going to be an indigenous tribesman thanks to the evangelical zeal of obnoxious Western missionaries during the 19th Century. From Arachnal Pradesh o the Indo-Burmese border, across through Laos, and then from Korea down the Pacific Rim as far south as Indonesia, these missionaries spewed their intellectual and cultural poison and indelibly altered this part of the world forever.

In one of the more interesting outcomes, it was the head hunting tribes that became the most faithful of Protestant converts. Ergo, if you meat a Malaysian citizen of the Protestant faith, you can bet your bottom dollar- or in this case RM- that that person is Bumiputra...or...Orang Asli.

Asking my companion if she was a Bumiputra set off a firestorm, at least in the relative sense. I was rather suprised then that she warmed up just as we entered Luzon's airspace. By the time we landed 15 minutes later I was ready to seal the deal with an invite to the studio I sublet in Makati, and what I had hoped would be at least an earnest attempt at knocking boots...though having discovered that my companion was a virgin- or so I thought- I wasn't at all certain what the day might hold. As it turned out she had to immediately connect with her flight home to Kuala Lampur. After exchanging contact info and promising her that indeed, we would talk again, we parted ways and I caught a taxi to my studio pn De La Rosa Street...

To be continued...

Glass pipes
glass blown pipes
glass chillums
glass bubblers
herb grinders