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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

I wrote a massive blog entry the other day after that long, strange entry I posted when I was feeling bad. I'm almost glad that my browser crashed and I lost it as it somehow doesn't feel relevant anymore.

After my terrible bad spell I spent a day or so in bed crying then on Tuesday I had to go back to work. I only had to work 4 hours and it was ok when I got there, although one of my friends was being shitty with me. I just ignored it, I'm done with dealing with people who take out their negativity on me for no reason.

I was off work on holiday today and I'm off tomorrow. It was pay day today which was great. I went and got my hair cut, got a chunk of hair shaved out again and I feel more like myself. It's like getting hair cut releases old negativity from me... and I also just look better.

Monday was slightly strange. When I got off the bus I passed the car park beside it on my way up the street. My ex was sitting in his car, it looked like he was waiting for someone. Normally when I see him I crumble internally, but this time I was actually ok. It was really strange. I felt a bit sad because when I used to feel the stabbing pain I felt when I saw him... there was still something there... and now there's not really anything. I mean, that was just from seeing him in passing and I didn't make eye contact, it would maybe be different if I saw him for longer. But it's progress nonetheless.

One thing that has been keeping me sane lately is the guy who is designing my latest tattoos. We've forged a strange kind of friendship. I guess we just click, which is good because he'll be drawing on me soon!!!! He showed me the designs he's come up with and they are stunning, to say the least, I can't even begin to describe how right he's got it.

It turns out he plays in a punk band that are pretty famous around Edinburgh... that was a bit of a shock. We've talked loads about going hardcore raving back in the day so to find out he is in a punk band really blew my mind. My ex is a punk and he always used to make me feel really shit about coming from a rave/free party background. He seemed convinced that I was fucking everything that moved at events when I was off my face on drugs. That was never, ever the case. I was the weird, quiet nerd that danced for 12 hours straight and rarely spoke to anyone. I just loved the music and the vibes. I never even met guys at these sort of things, apart from Stuart, and he was my friend for many years. Nothing even happened between us until long after my ex and I had parted and it ended pretty badly. I guess the dude at the tattoo shop made me realise that it *is* ok for me to love all kinds of music and that I don't have to be ashamed of the times I had growing up because I know that they weren't the sexually-charged parties he was imagining. Sex was the last thing on my mind. I was on drugs, I was listening to amazing music, communing with nature, looking after people who were too out of it and generally just being myself.

I'm sitting tonight with a few cans of Strongbow cider listening to some of the music I used to listen to back in the old days and remembering how great it was, and how although I've kind of "slipped" from the scene... it's something that I can go back to and I've reconnected with so many old friends lately who I thought I'd lost after what happened with my ex, then what happened with Stuart.

What happened with Stuart was pretty awful. We were best friends for about ten years and I'd always loved him but it was always a friends thing. When I met my ex I let the friendship slide and Stuart disappeared to Spain for a couple of years without telling me. After my ex and I broke up he randomly turned up again and we started spending a lot of time together and did a lot of drugs together. Eventually in 2010 things started to take a funny turn and we were starting to spend our Saturday nights together, I could see things changing between us. Things like the way we had our arms around each other, how I'd stay over after we'd been partying (he would DJ and I would choose the tunes, one night we got a black light and uv paint and went a bit tribal), he started giving me his PJs after I'd showered and I'd sleep in his bed. Nothing ever happened. Then one night it almost did, but my phone rang and it killed the moment. Then the next week we kissed. For three hours. It was all a bit crazy. The next night we were DJing with another friend at a mutual friend's wedding and had a good long chat and he said that he believed that we were truly soulmates but that he was worried we'd left it too long. After that we started drifting a bit... then next thing I knew he'd moved up to Edinburgh. I went up and met him after a two day drugs binge (then he and I got fucked up after it) and had a great time just as friends but he made me sleep on the sofa... that's when I knew things had changed... then next thing I know I go on his facebook and he's listed as "in a relationship" with someone else. I got really angry with him because I felt like he'd lead me on and he didn't even have the guts to tell me which would have been better than finding out on Facebook... and we've not talked since. It will be two years in April. We've recently become friends on Facebook again but, although my feelings for him have gone, I still can't bring myself to speak to him.

I guess I'm starting to realise that I can't change anything that's happened in the past and that if I want to be happy that I'm going to have to start living in the present instead of dwelling on things that hurt me and getting angry about them. I feel that it's ok for me to feel badly about stuff but instead of letting it destroy me I have to learn from it otherwise I'm not going to keep evolving. If I'm unsure of myself then I come across as vulnerable to other people and unfortunately some people prey on what they see as weakness. I can't let that happen anymore because it's destroying me. I need to stand up and be counted.

I can't promise myself that my future is going to be any better than my present so I need to work on making the here and now a good place to be instead of constantly looking to the future as some shiny positive place. It will only be that place if I make the present positive and then I can look back with no pain and no regrets. I'm sick of feeling regret and sadness and I'm sick of having horrible depressive episodes because all my baggage starts weighing me down. I deserve better than that.

+Recently I have started sampling the red wine collection of the Finnish government's alcohol store. I just realized I have been having 1-2 bottles a night for almost 2 weeks now and decided it might be good to keep some kind of journal if I am ever to finish their whole collection. It's hard to believe that until recently, I didn't drink a drop of alcohol for 2 whole years. Suddenly I just realized I love red wine and here we are. I associate it with all the vice in the world, from the orgies of Roman times to smoking opium in Portugal, so it always has a mental effect to go with the buzz for me. True wine aficionados would cringe at the thought of someone drinking all of this just to get wasted and dream of everything that is wrong (right) in the world.

I'm not a wine connoisseur or anything, I am just trying to fight off the futility and boredom of existence until I can get GTFO from this cold, stagnant country that is trying to force the majority's philosophy of life on everyone. I know, cliche. But I am so sick of it all. Wine seems to help pass the time and make it to the next day, so I drink wine.

So, the red wines I have tried in the last couple of weeks, judging by the bottle I have found lying around. I'll update as I find more of them. I can't remember the effects or taste of most, but will try to keep track of them from now on.

Cafe Culture (South Africa) {Love this one, a great everyday wine}
Juno (South Africa)
Allora Primitivo Salento (Italy) {Not bad}
Duca Di Camasta Nero d'Avola (Italy)
J.P. Chenet Merlot (France) {Meh}
Wolf Blass Shiraz Cabernet Sauvignon (Australia) {Very full taste, great wine}
Montalto Collezione Di Famiglia Nero d'Avola (Italy)
Cono Sur Cabernet Sauvignon (Chile) {Meh..}
Yellow Tail Shiraz (Australia) {Very nice, like all Australian Chiraz I have trie}

I've tried both 5 and 6 on several occasions and have tried them both together once. Not sure I agree with Frequent Flyer.

Euphoria:5APB - 4. Euphoria is there but the whole experience is much more lucid and functional than MDMA. 6APB - 7. Much more euphoric. Really lovely feeling - particularly with doses of 6APB above the 100mg range.

Stimulation: 5APB - 8. This is where I don't agree regarding sedation. This stuff gave me so much energy, a wonderful clean feeling. Was at a club night for 8 hours, had 70mg of 5APB to begin with a small top-up (30mg) after a couple of hours. Going all night, lots of dancing. 6-APB is so much heavier. Wouldn't want to rate it. However, I have not tried it in a club - I'm going to this weekend. I'm hoping that, mixed with 5APB, it is going to be a lot of fun.

Empathy: 5APB - same with euphoria. It is there but 5APB was all about energy and lucidity. I wanted to talk to people, interact, kiss my girlfriend etc but I was perfectly happy just dancing and enjoying the feeling. 6APB - 8. Very close to MDMA at a dose of 150mg - nothing beats MDMA - but very close. In fact, the empathy I experienced during my last little experiment with 6APB allowed me to make a major breakthrough with regards to the thesis I am writing.

Tactile Sensation: 5-APB - 5, 6-APB - 6. Both quite similar. The functionality and lucidity of 5APB leaves it a little wanting in comparison to 6APB.

Visuals: 5APB - eye wobbles, nothing more. 6APB - OEVs, CEVs, light, colour enhancement. Probably about 3 out of 10. However, mixed with weed and MXE, 6APB gets very, very, very trippy - be careful not to take MXE too close to the peak. With that combo 6APB comes up to a 6.

Music Enhancement: Both excellent, nearly up there with MDMA.

On the occasion I tried 5 and 6 together, it was very apparent that the former is so much more potent than the latter. You need much less 5APB to roll than you do with the 6. 50mg of 5APB totally overpowered about 150mg of 6APB.

However, I bloody love 5APB for a couple of reasons. It is clean, crisp and bursting with energy. It has enough empathetic and euphoric qualities to make socialising (in a club seating) both easy and enjoyable. In addition, I have not had any comedown after taking 5APB. I don't really think you get any with 6APB either.

The plan for this weekend is to start with 100mg of 5APB (which I wouldn't recommend unless you've tried this stuff before) and then to top up with 80mg of 6APB. My hope is that I'll have the energy and drive from the 5APB coupled with some enhanced visuals from the 6APB. As ever, a trip report will follow sometime next week.

http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/...APB-Thread?p=10207784&viewfull=1#post10207784

I literally just moved here yesterday. I am from nc. I am really sick and need to know where I can get some h in seattle. Does anyone know where to look?

So, at the art school I go to, physicall education is unfortunately a requirement. Since volleyball was the sport of choice at every rehab I've been to, it seemed only natural to choose something I was familiar with, if I had to partake in any athletic activity.

So this morning I trudged myself into the city, and down into the gymnasium of my school, where I changed out of my street clothes, and into my gym shorts and a short sleeved shirt. Though the scabies are now dead, the parasitic bastards have left their mark, and my legs, arms and hands are still covered in dried blood and scabs .I actually chose not to wash my wounds this morning, because I kind of like to exhibit the freakish ravagings of my infestation, especially in a gymnasium filled with a bunch of girls that look like they just walked of the Jersey Shore.

So I leave the lockeroom, fully changed, and lie my bony ass down on the smooth wooden floor while our "coach", reads off the attendance. I kind of like my P.E teacher in all honesty, he has the sort of character that you would expect Robert DeNiro to play, in some movie about a P.E teacher that comes to inspire, and change the lives of under-privelaged, inner citty Highschoolers. However, he's obsessed, like all P.E teachers, with forcing everyone to group up into pairs, to practice their volleyball skills. This presents a problem for myself, as I hate to really ask anyone to be my partner, and of course I ended up standing in a corner, lightly bumping a volley ball to myself for about ten minutes, before he ordered me to join some girls across the gym.

Since I'm shy, I have to options on how I can deal with people that I dont know, when I'm forced to interact with them. I can 1) Be overly friendly and bashfull, or 2) act like a misserable son-of-a-bitch, who hates humanity, and looks like a serial killer. Today I opted for option number two, as like I said above, these were Jersey Shore types, and no matter how nice I acted, I would still send them "creep vibes".

So we continued to do some volleyball excercizes, working on our "bumps", and our serves, both underhand and overhand. Since I suffer from chronic sexual insecurity, I made sure that every time I hit the ball, it was too powerful rather than too weak. At one point I hit the ball insanely hard, and also completely out of bounds (though I'm pretty sure that's not the correct terminology). It wound up stuck in the bleachers. My partner attempted to retrieve the ball, but couldnt hoist herself up enough to get at it. I took this as an opportunity to display my masculinity, so I ran up to the bleacher's, kicked off it, and proppeled myself upwards, and scrambled for a moment before I secured myself safely on top, and got the ball. My performance was evidently pretty impressive, or at least strange, since I saw a few spectators below rasing eyebrows, but i just threw the ball down like it wasn't a big deal. "yeah, im hot shit, what of it?"

Then during the last half hour of class, the coach split us into teams, and we played real games. At first I tried my best, and landed a few points. Each time I laid my hands on that ball and brought it over the net, I felt an immense pride build up inside of me, but it didnt last long. After the first ten points or so were scored, I succeded in fucking up several different plays. Actually, to be quite honest, it wasn't all my fault, in fact, I was probably the best player on my team. The thing is though, im NOT a team player. The errors that plagued me for the rest of the class were all situations in which the ball was heading in a questionable spot, where it could have easily been mine to hit, or the girl next to me or behind me. You're supposed to say something along the lines of "I got it", to let your team mates know, so they back off, and avoid ramming into you, or eachother. However, I've always hated raising my voice, especially in a situation that is not serious (like a game of volleyball), so I decided to just let the other people hit it, and zone out. One of the girls, a big snarling beast of a thing, started to get pretty bitchy with my apathy and poor sportsmanship. She said something like "move it!", which totally rubbed me the wrong way. Instead of getting back into the game however, I decided to slack off even more, and just stood there, scratching at one of the scabs on my arm until it tore off and started bleeding. Luckily the game ended shortely thereafter, but it left a sour taste in my mouth.

I left the gym and immediately went outside to smoke a ciggarette in the cold rain, and put on Iggy Pop and the Stooges, to enhance my feelings of alienation and misanthropy. I decided about halfway through the second track ''Gimme Danger", to walk around the block, because I was getting paranoid that I might run into someone I knew.

So I'm walking around the block, under this shitty scaffolding, smoking a shitty rolled ciggarette, and I see this staggering homeless guy, who's stopping everyone in front of me, asking for change. I approach him, and take out my earphones to see what he want's, and surprisingly, all he asks me is what music I'm listening to. I was kind of reluctant to say "the Stooges", as I had already deemed this poor, wretched sould to be completely ignorant. However I said fuck it, the guy wants to talk to me, so I told him, "It's Iggy Pop man, Iggy and the stooges."

The guy swayed back and forth, and repeated "Iggy Pop" several times, and then informed me that he was black, to which I said, "that's cool with me." Then he said, "Iggy Pop. Iggy Pop from Detroit". I said, yeah, that's right. He said, "Iggy Pop and the Stooges?" I started laughing and said "Yeah man, you got it, you like them?". He raised his hand and gave me a high five, and for the next hour we sat there talking about The Stooges, David Bowie, Lou Reed, Bauhaus, Basquiat, some obscure architect I've never heard of, Dave Mustaine from Megadeth, Bad Brains, Choking Victim, Minor Threat, and shit, the list just went on and on. Our conversation ended with him playing air guitar while he sung The Who's "Behind Blue Eyes", and I was just cracking up. After he finished his air guitar solo, we shook hands, and headed off into the sunset

Second day of trying to stay alcohol free was as unsuccessful as yesterday. Today I started early, against my better judgement (because it always makes me feel like hell), and by 7 PM it turned into an additional 8 oz of vodka, as near as I can estimate.

The irony is that my DOC's, kratom and GBL, are unobtainable for financial reasons, yet neither are as harmful to me as booze. The last few times I've run out of GBL I've gone directly to alcohol, and am now aware of how badly it's effecting me. My sleep, which is bad to begin with, is shorter and less restful than ever. I'm nauseated for long periods during the day, and my appetite is best when I've had a few shots. I've become completely lethargic during the day, doing the bare minimum of schoolwork/responsibilities.

Tomorrow I absolutely need to shape up and get it together. I'm going to try exercising to keep me away from the alcohol for 24 hours. Really hope I can keep off it.

And my place is apparently down in a deep, dark hole.

But I got a lot of writing done and took a power nap (ha, ha) ... I didn't make it till 11pm like I wanted to but this should be good. I'm fucking just bone tired. I've been drinking loads of orange juice mixed with seltzer to get a little sustenance inside of me (all about the electrolytes, baby) but the acidic qualities of the OJ are making me a bit nauseous. So now I'm eating Reese's fucking Pieces. It's got 4g of protein, for fuck's sake! Awesomeness. Stupid drugs make me crave sugar. But it makes sense -- I haven't eaten anything in 24hrs so my body is craving the easiest form of energy to digest.

I've got dry mouth like whoa. I want to stay up and watch WWE Raw but I feel like I'm about to conk out at any moment. I'm catatonic, really, the only thing still going is my mind... "My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed, counting sheep, I'm running out" ... so there's that.

I've been playing this ridiculous Facebook game (no, not Farmville.) called Sorority Life all fucking day like some kind of manic nerd. It's such a dumb game... It might as well be Farmville. I feel like Farmville is so 2009. I'm like level 208... I only made it to level 52 on World of Warcraft. Such stupid, compulsive games. I do like the strategy of doing Dungeon Raids and working as a team with all the respective parts... Tank, Healer, Melee, etc... NERD ALERT HIGH.

It's so weird -- when I go to date things, I instinctively start to write #/##/2009... I should tell my therapist that. He'd probably get a kick out of it. If "stuck" ain't the word, I don't know what is...

in rather disregards for anything to the slightest. A forwarning to anyone who assumes they can take control of any situation, research chemicals are intense and only a handfull out of a hundred people can actually handle it. Ive met people who claim that the drug ruined their life, though i do understand the damage of what Psychedelics can cause, i also feel that people should have no doubt in their mind that they are able to handle an alternative reality. I for one, have. So far, approximatly 50 recorded diaphenhydramine trips have been taken. Dph, is chemicaly useless unfortunantly, its although interesting and disabling. It also produces unreal like dreams and diseuphoria. Dextromethorphan has been used approximatly 150+ times. Due to its euphoric feeling and unique body load and mindset. In this book, this is the devide of integrating between psychedelic theorpy and utter destruction of the human mind. Hallucinigens may increase the excitment in life, but they also can bite back if a user is inexperianced.

2c-E Trip

On or around april 24th i had taken a small amount of 2c-E, which was the remaining powder all around the inside of 3, dime size baggies. All in all, it had to be an approximate 20mg-30mg dose. I have never triped on a psychedelic before other than occasionaly using marijuana. We were all driving around when we had decided to take it, and i had to be home in a few hours. At that time i couldnt help but to think how strange a psychedelic would be to use. Then suddenly it hit me. As i walked up the stairs i began to see the stair rail sway and convay a geometric brething design. When i had gotten up to my room, all the walls(where each seam met) began to wave and sway into a ocean-like water rythem. Just as this started to happen i looked at my fingures and found them bending in convexing and concaving forms of illusions. While at the same time when i looked at my floor, beautiful floral patterns and designs could be both seen and felt all around me. During this expidition i went outside and found myself stairing at the moon, which dramaticallty turned into an eye within a slpit second. Just as the ground crawled with geometric design i also kept thinking the ground itself was a complex and intuitive organism on its own. When i got to the patio door, i simply sat down and had a ciggaret. I watched the yardlights turn from their usual yellow, to magnificant ranges of bright and neon, blues, reds, purples, greens, and such. When i had closed my eyes, constantly moving geometric paterns came to me, shifting in color and design. All together the emotional state i was in was both beautiful and insane. At one moment i thought i had gone mad, but quickly threw out the throught process. Bright green and red hazes appeared as patches of fog outside. i kept watching the horrizon line shift in spirals and unique designs. The most beautiful feeling in my life, i felt complete, as if i was finnaly whole. I found myself loving every minute of every hour of every day, as it seems to remain for the restr of my life!

Chapter 1: Psychedelic Theorpy

This present day context is no longer of any degree of melting the boiling point into a chemical synthesis of a new era. An example of such a pre-tense complicated over-realization is the generation of the 60s, using LSD, or Lysergic Acid.
In the current situation of this general pre-tense contains much more complicated materials such as 2c-E, 2c-I, DOI, Myceria Fragrans, Dextromethorphan HBu, Diaphenhydramine HCL, Dmt, 5-MeO-Dmt, Etc. A psychedelic trip is often catorgorized as 3 different lables.
One, a Clean, Psychedelic Trip often some people dispute between DOI, Some dispute between LSD being clean or, Psilocibon Mushrooms, and often peyote and other naturally occurring plants that contain psychedelic alkaloids.
Two, a Disassociative, trip( Moderatly clean, very enjoyable trips) a feeling of upper conchesness, more awareness and alertness, feeling of a higher power, Very enjoyable, Relaxation and new philosophical thought process, over-all sence of well being.
Three, a Deliriant, Often hard to interpret, or describe, hard to integrate, difficulty concentrating, difficulty integrating between reality and fiction. Delirious actions and opinions, interrupted train of thought, etc.
During the years I have come to learn that Psychedelic Use seems to be acciociated with a new world of very complex feelings. During this time I have come into contact with relitivly strange chemicals other than your average beer or hit of weed. The year of 2010 I had a report of my first 2c-E trip, as being a definantly worth while material, comprehensive, mind altering, and beautifuly alive context.
My First Psychedelic trip ever would have to be Nutmeg, or the chemical name, Myceria Fragrans, 2010, a few months before 2c-E. This inclining revolution, a new theory for evolution of my new conclusion. This book, contains a new point of view or perspective of reality and fantasy using psychedelic theory. Truly, any drug you decide to choose to do must be researched properly and used in the proper setting, just as my dad always told me, “There is a time and place for everything…”

The Proper context as so to speak in which these materials can be reffered to as is, a new life all together, either you decide to take the risk of doing psychedelics, or to simply walk away from it. Some people have a mind that can handle hallucinogens, other cant.

The past few weeks have been total shit.

I sold a bunch of my dead great-aunt's gold jewelry that has been sitting in my closet since she died in 2001. I'm sorry, Ida. Also sold some of my dead mom's stuff and my dad's stuff. I feel like a complete degenerate.

I got some rent paid and got high for a week or two.

I kept the important stuff so I don't feel like such a piece of shit. Wedding rings. My great-aunt's mezuzah necklace. I found a tiny Hebrew scroll in her jewelry box and I wish I read Hebrew. But I assume it's something important. Obviously. Maybe the Kaddish? I don't know... and I guess I will never know. I could probably ask a Rabbi but I feel so uncomfortable around synagogues. Like I don't belong. Odd Jew out. I'd like to discover more about my religion but I don't know if I have the courage...

The jewelry, I feel, is also kind of a posthumous gift because I really got myself into a fucking bind with my rent/eviction and even though they're sick/dead I know they'd help me out if they could... sigh.

Didn't get the job I interviewed for and my phone is off so I can't really apply for jobs right now. Just waiting for this month to be OVER. I feel so isolated in a city of 8million plus...

I feel like I failed my brother. But I guess that isn't true because he's doing better than ever. I guess I got depressed after I knew my brother was going to be okay. I was being strong for him but now I have to be strong for myself. I don't feel like I can do it.

Now it's me who needs the help and I don't know how to ask for it or even if I did ask, I don't know how to accept it.