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Job interview today wish me luck everybody.





It's an old job I had that was my first ever job and was amazingly laid back and cool.

I often have prescient dreams and I've been having dreams that I'm working in my former store, been having them for years which is understandable as I've spent 4 years in that tiny little building. But now they've changed hands and the new owners are scrambling to hire managers (as it seems) and it couldn't come at a better time.

My travesty of a court conundrum and legal cronyism asshole "conditional discharge" won't allow me to work in healthcare (my current field) for the next six months. If anyone has read my thread in the dark side they'll know the charge and the crookeder-than-a-barrell of snakes methods they used to bring me into the system. They leech money from the lower classes, but I'm not getting on a negative kick I'm in too good a mood. This new med combo is awesome and even allowed me to taper down to 1mg of clonazapam a day down from 4. Lyrica is a godsend.

Sorry for the rant I wake up super happy (paradoxical too my usual reaction which is feeling like shoving my head into the oven from the pain of being woken) and my fingers are flying on this elegant keyboard. I've relinquished control and am NOT about to start an argument with appendages. I'm outnumbered ten to one, and they know the score.

Hope everyones doing well and I hope I'm doing a good job as moderator. I was a bit absent recently because of two weeks of unscheduled benzo withdrawal that had me bedridden but I've gaffed that mighty whale in its heart and am now in full-bore functioning form.

Anybody ever wants to PM me to get to know me a little better don't hesitate, for I love a good relay of correspondence. I'm working on letters to the whole lot of you drug-addled, functional compound junkies but there's quite a few of you and it takes a bit of time. A preemptive line would be welcomed.



On another note, I'm really considering the possibility of becoming an painter/tattoo artist in the near future. I've been at the local shop nearly thrice a week just hanging out and getting the feel of the industry (I've been deeply immersed in the trade via ex-girlfriends and current friends, who own this particular shop). I've started making hindu flash and if only I could afford a lightbox and colored pencils I'd be in business. I draw at the shop but my time there is limited as they need that spot to draw at times too, I try to go when its not too busy. It's a slippery slope and an unpredictable business strictly from a profit perspective.

So I might just hold off on the typewriter as it's atavistic and would only serve as a monument and a symbolic machine. Any extra cash I accumulate that doesn't go to dissociatives and 4 substituted tryptamines will go into the following:


Soft Shader AL13 Zen


AL13 Zen Galaxie (top left)


As well as various accessories: tubes, grips, clip cords, a power supply, themal paper, also a mountain of piercing accessories because I want to get into that as well, for fun.

Just the two machines are over 1000 dollars and I'm not wasting money on garbage equipment having to tune and adjust the thing every other day. Not to mention art supplies, canvas, paints, even a few classes at the local community college I'm sure would be helpful.

I've put my writing on hold until I can get a better A.D.D. med or some 4-fluero-amphetamine. I've also taken to smoking pot here and there and I quite like it. I smoked for ten years until the age of 24, and in retrospect I can see the medicinal and creative value it imposed on my being.

Oh, and I've quit heavy drinking. A beer once in a blue moon (no the pun wasn't intended), but that's all. The only problem with being this happy and content all of a sudden wrought from the throes of reckless abandon and despair and stagnation, is that the boredom. I can do a million things and eventually I'll get bored. I've always known this emotion we call boredom, even from a very young age. I attribute this the television being introduced to me at an early age. I could write a 200 page essay on televisions negative impact on western culture (and, ultimately through the spread of information like a disease that spreads as sunshine does) starting in the 50's and growing at an exponential rate.

Did they have the tube in Orwell's 1984? I can't remember.

Anyway, thats it for now folks. The fat is in the fire. The fat lady willl be singing and it will be an ominous auditory phenomenon for anyone who hasn't cashed in there chips when the hammer comes down. My spiritual energy ALONE, even devoid of rational egoic thought and reasoning, can feel it. Hard to describe. Like the feeling of certain doom one would acquire clinging to a precipice and losing ground, only the precipice is far more complex than anything we could ever imagine, making it illusory and hard to spot (for the majority lets call them, at least). Or maybe this is all gibberish, the half-mad ramblings of a crippled terminal neurotic who happens to hold a firm grasp on diction and words. I am a man letters, and I intend to use them. Some day.

Thou

<p>He was charged under Section 340 of the Penal Code that carries a jail term of up to a year and a maximum RM2,000 fine.</p>





LOGIN REGISTER The Star/Asia News Network<br> Friday Dec 16,&#12488;&#12522;&#12496;&#12540;&#12481; &#12496;&#12483;&#12464;, 2011





<p>DPP Amalina Zainal Mokhtar prosecuted before magistrate Tuan Ruzuaini Tuan Lah. Rafizam was unrepresented.</p>

<p>Rafizam Abdul Rahman of Taman PSJ here pleaded guilty to preventing his wife from leaving the house between 6pm on July 6 and 3.30pm on July 18.</p>

<p>KUANTAN,&#12513;&#12531;&#12474; &#12464;&#12483;&#12481; &#36001;&#24067;, Malaysia - A 29-year-old man was fined RM2,000 (S$821) by the Magistrate's Court here after he admitted to confining his wife in their home for 11 days.</p>



<p>Police arrested Rafizam on the same day his wife was freed.</p>



<p>In the same court yesterday, a 29-year-old driver was fined RM3,&#12488;&#12522;&#12540;&#12496;&#12540;&#12481; &#12459;&#12496;&#12531;,000, in default six months' jail, for stealing a frying pan.</p>

<p>iPHONE APP | MOBILE | RSS FEED</p>

[glow=red,2,300]Very happy with these guys. [/glow]
Super fast shipping. Ordered from the Midwest USA and got it in 6 days flat. :D
Incredibly discrete packaging, no worries there. Sealed foil pack folded in paper with an invoice.

Michael in online support was very helpful. I changed my mind about my order last minute after placing and he processed a refund for the change.


Product was very pure, near complete vaporization with a heat test with very little carbon (black) residue.


Im placing another order with them today.

The place has a tasty menu, well built site and clearly marked pricing.

Overall I'd say theyre a bit pricey, but they make up for it in customer service. I didn't expect them to refund me or change my order after I placed it, but I was pleasantly suprised when it arrived and I found the cash refunded to my card.

Thats how they really won my trust.


buy-jwh.com

This is how I'm going to take up fifty one more characters.
~W01F

[glow=red,2,300]Very happy with these guys. [/glow]
Super fast shipping. Ordered from the Midwest USA and got it in 6 days flat. ;D

Incredibly discrete packaging, no worries there. Sealed foil pack folded in paper with an invoice.

Michael in online support was very helpful. I changed my mind about my order last minute after placing and he processed a refund for the change.


Product was very pure, near complete vaporization with a heat test with very little carbon (black) residue.


Im placing another order with them today.

The place has a tasty menu, well built site and clearly marked pricing.

Overall I'd say theyre a bit pricey, but they make up for it in customer service. I didn't expect them to refund me or change my order after I placed it, but I was pleasantly suprised when it arrived and I found the cash refunded to my card.

Thats how they really won my trust.


buy-jwh.com

This is how I'm going to take up fifty one more characters.
~W01F

There was some wood cutting to be done on the mountain, and I was out early. The autumn morning was as clear as an alpine lake. The sunrise burned gold in a pure sky, the shadows on the edge of the snowy clearing were darkly blue, and in the valley patches of far-off forest hung like smoke. It is early in the morning stillness, when my muscles are swinging to their familiar task and my lungs expanding with deep breaths of mountain air that I do my clearest thinking.

My savings won't last forever and neither will the opening for the job that I was offered nearly a year ago. I would sign a 1 or 2 year contract agreeing to work with some of the same people that I left in Portland. I would have to start soon to have enough time to complete the project before the funding for the grant expires and, let's be honest, before I have forgotten everything.

My girlfriend is here about half the time, and I spend an afternoon in town with her sometimes when she wants to run errands, or when we need to buy supplies, or when I want more than a few minutes of internet time. So overall, we/I've been largely isolated on the ranch. And that isolation has given me enough time and distance that I think I could deal with living in the city again, especially if I know that I will only be there for a short time.

I had not thought much about the project that I left unfinished. I won't bore anyone with the details except to say that it's technical and involves a rigorous combination of math and science. That and the project in a very generalized and indirect way, as does everything else in that field, asks the question "what are the neural substrates of consciousness?" I would be working at a research university, and if all goes well the research will generate 2 or 3 publications in the year that I am there. (I finished a lot of the work while still in Portland). It is innovative enough that there is a good chance that one of them would be in a high impact journal such as Nature or Science. Maybe that is wishful thinking, but the project is cutting edge. In that position I would expect to earn and save enough (I'm good at living frugally) money to live on it long enough to properly plan and invest in a farming enterprise (goats) and get things going smoothly.

I walked to the edge of the clearing. Morning sun filtered through the pines, their motionless tops making a frozen pattern of light and dark on the fresh snow. I leaned my ax against a log and sat on a rock. I poured a cup of hot coffee from a Thermos my girlfriend had packed for me.

My hands aren't idle, but despite all the reading and occasional journaling and sketching that I do, my mind is idle out here. If I were to stay, I would live off my savings to a small extent and only when necessary, but mostly I don't touch that. I have been doing manual labor (harvesting mushrooms, roofing, restoration work, selling firewood and harvesting timber (never old growth), etc.). Manual labor is fine up to a point, but it's too easy, and it's not engaging. Any knucklehead with a strong back could do this stuff, and there are plenty of knuckleheads here who earn a subsistence living doing so. I'm not using my mind out here. Without a challenge that I can lose myself in, I feel that I'm stagnating and that I'm losing my mind at times. Not only that, but I've realized that I miss learning new things. I don't mean reading books but being in an academic environment and doing cutting edge research and publishing the findings.

There is a lot of pressure at a federally funded research university. The work is very competitive, especially in a political climate that seems increasingly reluctant to fund science. The hours are long, and I would be working for what amounts to peanuts. I don't htink I have ever been one to chase money, and I wouldn't do anything horribly unethical to get it. In fact, I turned down a corporate job (pharmaceutical industry) that offered a 6 figure (>$100,000 dollar) salary right out of college. But the setting for the prospective job is academic which I believe is generally more honest, collegial (people help each other by collaborating, sharing knowledge, skills, data, supplies, etc.). I think I could deal with that for a while.

Another BL Blogger was discussing a "Bad Trip" off of hallucinogenic mushrooms and it brought back memories for me. In Israel, when you serve in the military, but your family lives abroad- as did mine- you are called a "Lone Soldier." Above and beyond perks given to you in Israel, you get free airfare to that country abroad and three weeks consecutive leave annualy if you serve past the first three years, which is the minimum all Israeli Jewish men serve. After those three years, you either re-enlist or else you take a gap year before university (virtually all Israeli Jewish men begin university at age 22) and then serve as a Reservist until age 56. In my case, I served nearly 7, went into Reserve, became a pro again in 2006 and retired in 2007 at age 40.5 based upon acrrued combat time, because virtually all my service, including my 45 days each year in Reserves, was in combat (or counter-terror which is accrued the same).

At age 19, I began using my airtickets to fly to my family's home in Brooklyn, in New York City. Getting back to Brooklyn, it didn't take me long to run into my friend Avi. "Avi" is a Jewish name but Avi was a Puerto Rican, Alberto Sanchez. He and his brother in law Roberto "Berto" Andujar were the reasons why I ended up being shipped to Israel at age 12. I had begun running the streets with Avi.

Avi told me that Berto had gotten hooked on "dope." Dope, in New York, only refers to a single substance, heroin. In 1986, the year I am referring to, the city was awash in Southeast Asian #4, the best illicit heroin in the world in terms of quality at that point and ever since. Berto supported his large habit by selling cannabis and "mescalin." By "mescaline" I mean 75 microgrammes of LSD dosed on 3/32 of an inch saccharine tablets, what we used to call "double barrels," usually died purple, or on tiny pasta stars, the type used in soup, dyed a bright red and dosed with 90 microgrammes. Now, mescalin requires a huge dose, comparatively speaking, you will never fit half a viable dose upon a single pasta star or saccharine tablet and yet, people bought the idea hook, line, and sinker.

My third day home Berto and Avi invited me to go with them, to "re-up." We drove into Manhattan, shot up the West Side Hiway to 125th Street in Harlem, turned left up Lennox and hit W145th Street, the last major street before Washington Heights which begins at 156th. At the time, W145th was the centre for brickweed and dust. At W145th and Parkside Avenue there were eight different brands of Angeldust, PCP. Although crystalline dust was popular across the river, in New Jersey, where people ignorantly called it "T," as in "THC" powder, sniffing it, and even injecting it, in the city liquid PCP was sprayed onto mint leaves and packaged in. plastic ziplocs that were then folded and put into little manila envelopes, sometimes coloured, and stamped with brand names just like glassines of heroin. In fact, one brand, "Crazy Eddie," WAS in a stamped glassine instead of manila.

PCP, for whatever reason, is a racket controlled by blacks. It is the only illicitly synthesised drug in which blacks run the entire show from manufacture to distribution. I study drug geopolitics quite seriously, it is actually a sub-genre in anthropology and if I ever return to school I just may pursue a degree in it. It isn't very competitive of course, and so for an older person such as myself it would be a wise choice. Anyway, if you want to take a peek at the academic side you ought to check out Pierre Arnaud de Chouvy, or Rapoport, fantastic work. Anyway, I added this because I was going to say, I have studied the dynamic and have only ever found a single non-black manufacturing it. A Mexican American in California was the only exception.

The bags cost 8 US per, but a "bundle," 10 bags, were 50 US. Each bag had enough for 3 or 4 pin joints but if you could take three puffs of a pin joint and still want more, you were a super human. The reason we had gone up there though, was to re-up on brickweed. Jamaicans lived on the southside of W145, going downhill. They had touts on 145 itself, "How much you need playboy?" Berto would buy 5 pounds at a time, 2,000 US. They sold as little as a quarter pound, 110 to 120 US.

Usually, they had "Hefty" rubbish bags filled with it and an Ohaus triple beam. Berto would say "5 pounds," the guys, always mumbling in patois, "I and I lambsread blah blah bloodclot" and scoop it out with their hands, place it in thick large Ziplocs, with each pound packaged separately, and we would leave, usually pretty stoned because the Jamaicans were always happy to let you smoke some. Berto had six guys selling "Tres Bags" (pronounced "Tray Bags," at 3 US per, giving each dealer 50 US Cents per bag as "PC," New York slang for their end, or "percentage." He would go through 5 pounds every 3 days, making double his money after PC and overhead, he had two guys feeding the six dealers with "packages" and at at least two of the "spots" he has to pay off beat cops.

Ill get to the rest in a subsequent entry...

A continuation...

Berto's bread and butter however, was his "mescalin" trade. Berto would buy 5 gramme black platic canisters of crystal LSD. From these tiny canisters he would maunfacture between 50 and 75,000 dosages of "mescalin." It seems like a fantastic, even astronomical amount, especially for a non-addictive substance but he had a crew in Central Park, at Sheep's Meadow, selling minimum lots of 100, and the average customer, "average" being suburban college age white boys, buying 500 and up each purchase. Some would buy up to 5,000, and although that is the biggest single purchase I know of, I wasn't around often enough to know if some bought even larger amounts.

Getting crystal, Berto would have it diluted and dosed onto saccharine tabs ("doublr barrels") he died purple, tiny pasta stars as one finds in Minestrone soup, dyed bright red, and to a lesser extent, perforated watercolour paper ("blotter"). I found it interesting in terms of human behaviour. Some blotter, "Blue Star" for example (each piece had a blue star on it) was dosed as low as the purple microdots, but sold for a higher price simply because people perceived blotter to be a "purer," or "more powerful" product. Of course the microdots were being sold as "mescalin," but the blotter were being honestly presented as acid (LSD).

Some blotter was dosed considerably higher when I suggested that he should ape the heroin trade. Put out a better product for a bit, reel in the repeat customer base, and then bait and switch. One could buy undosed sheets, a "sheet" being 1,000 perforated squares, although in the Park customers were being sold 100 squared portions as "sheets," since 1,000 squared sheets often had 10 complete designs on them, each little square being a component of a design. Berto didn't go for that long term, though I did convince him for awhile of the utility in doing so.

Instead of shitty little "Blue Stars," he bought embossed designs like "Chill Pill," with late-1970s style graphics for the word "Chill Pill," in maroon ink on white backing, very fancy. The best idea though, was when I convinced him to add a bright food dye to the dilutent so that when he dosed the sheets, he could see just where most had been absorbed. The first sheet that had the coloued stain was "Rosicrucian." Rosicrucians are a mail order pseudo-religion and their symbol is a pyramid, a cross, and a rose all superimposed upon each other. The paper had this symbol in each square. Dipping each 1,000 squared sheet, you could see a teal coloured stain in each little square, the perforation preventing absorption anywhere but into the centre of the square. Customers loved it, they could findly have something tangible to look for.

In the Park, Berto's other brother in law, Juan, ran the show. Wearing a black biker-type leather jacket covered in buckskin style fringe and wearing a fucken mullet, he would saunter through Sheep's Meadow like some degenerate hippy pied piper, always with a dozen hangers on trailing him. The only good thing I could say about that distribution scheme was that it was a lightening rod for the best soft drugs in the city. The only time in my life where I actually copped Afghan hashish in North America, was in the Meadow, from one of Juan's "entourage," a 50 something Englishman with Granny Glasses and a pony tail sold me a quarter ounce for 25 US...oh, and another day, another guy whom I actually knew from outside that circle, sold me a bud of hydrponic- at a time when sinsemilla was considered "exotic"- covered in actual crystals, lime green and as sticky as velcro, 30 US for 5 grammes.


Juan had a string of junkies, blacks and Puerto Ricans, lining the paved path running along the chain link fence that acts as a perimeter for Sheep's Meadow. Whiteboys-mostly- would amble up the path. A junkie would mumble, "Yo, what ya' need dude? Acid, mescalin, weed?" Juan only let each one hold 100 dosages. 100 purple double barrels sold for 60 US, red stars for 75 US, and blotter could go as high as 120 per 100 dosages. There WERE real differences in dosage but not enough to warrant such pricing disparities. With blotter pricing was all about design. Chill Pill with its fancy embossed paper might have less microgrammes than purple and goldstriped #14 paper BUT Chill Pill sold higher because of the design- human behaviour at work.

Naturally I got as much acid as I wanted and at that point, not having become a drug dealer yet, I used to hand it out to "friends." One time I was invited to a party at some kid's house. His mom was a nurse on the night shift. I won't use his actual name because, well for one thing, I'm not sure how long Statutes of Limitation applies in such a case but also because I don't want to air a person's personal issues not knowing what the guy's current station in life is. Putting it online could create embarrassment for him and his family if he is on the straight and narrow.

In any event, character counts being what they are, it will have to wait for a subsequent entry.

You're dreaming you're deep into REM sleep and someone walks in someone who's dead someone you love and you're happy to see that person alive and well. Happy to have a conversation to say the things you never got a chance to say but then you wake up and the person you loved is still dead and you get to mourn them all over again.

any connects hit me up

I know she is tired but I absolutely hate it when someone just leaves a discussion, although it was a bit heated, I really really really get annoyed when someone just walks out on a discussion without finishing it and talking about it.

Im not chasing after her this time either, I spend too much time doing that and forcing the issue to be solved right here right now, I think I am just going to leave this one.

I know that it was not the right time to talk about something like that, but once again she just decides to create some story in her head about WHAT I AM THINKING AND WHAT MY INTENTIONS ARE. Why does she think that she can read my mind, but I have no possible way of reading her mind?????
I have not had any income at all since I have been here that it has been possible for me to contribute towards the bills, and what was it also that she said when I moved in, oh yeah that's right, "I lived here on my own and paid the bills before you got here so food is the only real extra expense" I have paid for the last months worth of shopping trips to tesco other than the last one where we split it in two. I have paid back all of the money that I borrowed for the meph, and I have paid for the new rug and plants and the last 3 or 4 times we have got a dominos take away which has been over £30 each time.

I really dont understand what else she expects from me financially when I am in the position of having no money at all to spare.
Every single time that this subject has come up in the past I have always said that when I am earning too I will pay my way with rent and bills.

This whole thing started because I was gibbering on about my coloured bike chain idea and then she made and ASSUMPTION once again that even if I did make money from it then I wouldn't be using any of it to help pay the bills and rent. an incorrect ASSUMPTION that was seeing as I have every intention of using any money that I make to go towards living costs and bills.

Just because the first business idea that I came up with whilst living here was the meph, she has ASSUMED that all other plans will end up with that same negative personal effects as that one.

She didn't even stop to think that just because I plan something and research it out to check if it is possible that most of the time I never go ahead with the plan.

She enjoys spending some of her spare time on personal programming projects, or sometimes just checking to see how something might work as a program, I like to spend some of my free time coming up with business ideas and researching to see if they are feasible.

After a grueling 5 months of sheer despair and utter hopelessness, in destitute and dire circumstance, unmedicated, uninsured, and under duress of the highest order I've managed to land a job.


This is where it gets unusual.

I've often had premonitions of future transpirations, almost to an unsettling degree. Last week during severe clonazapam withdrawal (lasted two weeks waiting on a doctors appointment) I had a prescient dream, which is not unlike me. It happens every now and then, usually the more centered I am the frequency of the dreams ascends to a higher magnitiude and frequency.

The dream was I was working at my first job, in the old store I spent 4 years manning single-handedly (the way I like it; solicitude is my concubine). I can't really recall many details for dreams are like mystical or psychedelic experieinces primarily, they quite keenly and skillfully circumvent description.

Here I am today, scheduled for an 8 hour shift in a Managerial position in the very same store. On a whim I stopped to chat, discovered they were under new ownership and upon hearing this I immediately ask about employment. After cycling through a few channells of subordinant characters I gained the attention of the district manager.

This was two days ago. Yesterday I handed in my resume, today she called and asked if I could work. Obviously I hid my excitement but said yes yes yes just the same Hot damn by god woman YES.

Interesting turn of affairs, lets just hope I can stay on the straight and narrow.


In other news, this is an addendum to that post I made about my unlawful arrest, detention, and sentencing happening around May of '11.



WE BEAT THEM LIKE DOGS

Just thought I'd give everyone an update on this seeing how it's been a long while.

It panned out exactly as I would have assumed it to have, had I not been such a defeatist/pessimist and paranoiac.

What it boiled down to was that their case had no water. If I had had the money or the time to risk the consequences should my defensive trial turn for the worst, I would have fought it full bore and had the charges dismissed, possibly filing a countersuit for wrongful arrest and defamation of character. But alas, I'm of humble means and simple fiduciary stock.

It resulted in a conditional adjournment in contemplation of dismissal, meaning if I stay out of trouble for 6 months-1 year the charges will be dropped. Whether this means they are stricken from my record and I am found innocent, I've not a clue as my lawyer doesn't return my calls or answer my admittedly long-winded questions when he does. I do know however that as a result of this and until the adjournment (1 year) I am unable to work in my current field (healthcare) which means I'm left to find less desirable work at half the pay I'd normally receive. Looks like I'll be heading back to college.

Thanks for the support, folks. You're all such wonderful​

people.

Thou

I posted this on my non bluelight blog last night at around midnight,
but since it contains bits about MXE and 3-meo-pcp and the batch possibly being contaminated.

From http://noonelistenplease.blogspot.com/

This weekend was pretty eventful, On Friday night I had a massive argument/discussion with my drunken ex fiance and she was so evil and nasty to me that I don't know if I can ever see her face again without the anger that I have for her now being there. It is such a shame as we were having a nice chat before the switch in her head flipped and she said all of the stuff she said. I'm not going to go into it in here as it will just make me more angry, but suffice to say, all contact is being cut, I am going to give up the allotment that I have in her village that is registered to her address and am going to change GP surgeries so that I no longer have any ties to the place that she lives and never have an excuse to just "pop in" while I'm in the area.

Saturday at about noon some MXE arrived and I took only about 100mg over the course of a few hours, and then remembered that it was my works Christmas party. I got dressed and ready for the party and walked there in a bit of an altered state. I didn't think it would be obvious but as soon as I walked in I was told that it was obvious that I wasn't just drunk or on my medication, so I preceded to get as drunk as possible as quick as possible to cover it up. This was probably a bad idea as I got soo drunk that I was pretty much ushered away from the party and shoved into a taxi and I got back to my place. When I got back, the swipe card to my building wasn't working, so I went to try and find some help getting in. Next thing I remember there were 3 security guys helping me get back to my room. I have absolutely no idea what time this was, I don't really have much of a memory of most of the party either.

I woke up on Sunday morning at about 4.30am and then decided that I might aswell finish the rest of the MXE so that when it was worn off I would have recovered from it in time to make it to work on Monday. This wasn't a mistake, but it turned out badly. I had a great time with the MXE, or what I thought was 100% MXE. I may have watched "A Scanner Darkly" again (will be making a blog post/review of the film shortly) It turned out that the MXE was contaminated with 3-meo-pcp as it was very stimulating and lasted until at least midnight that night. I had to take quite a bit of diazepam to get myself to sleep. This resulted in my waking up late for work and feeling very very sick. I had to email in sick and then I pretty much slept for the whole day.

Woke up on Monday properly at about 3pm, then had some food and watched some Lost. I fell asleep during the second episode of Lost and was awoken again at about 7pm by the fire alarm. I really didn't want to go and stand outside with everyone else so I took the opportunity to go to the laundry room and do a couple of loads of laundry. By the time I had left the laundry room about 20 minutes after the alarm started it had stopped. I watched some more Lost while the laundry was washing and drying and then went to sleep at around 11pm.

Woke up Tuesday morning after setting two alarms just in case, showered and went to work, was told by one of the seniors that my absence level increase has been noticed by all of the seniors and management, I was genuinely guilty and sad that I had let the team down again on Monday but there was no way I was fit to work. I told the senior that things haven't been going great again and that 2012 was going to be the year that I turn it all around and start being a good worker again. I worked as hard as I could today and will continue to do so for as long as I am employed there. I have to keep my job or I will lose my accommodation and will be stuck with a lot more debt than I should have. I think I am safe for now and that the first 3 months of 2012 will be my last chance to prove myself.

No sick days at all for me in those first 3 months. They are going to be my months of improvement. I have a lot to look forward to in 2012 and a lot of goals to aim for, so I think that it is going to be my year. I'll post more about those goals in detail when I get the courage to do the video posts again.

Time for sleep now. I have work again tomorrow and don't want to be late, that is almost as bad as not turning up.

For tonight, that is my ranting over.

It's been some time since I arrived in London. I got to know some facts about the city. One sure thing is when you start talking to someone on the street, it's very probable he/she is not English and even if he/she is, he/she isn't a Londoner. A city of so many cultures mixed. It's quite interesting because where I lived before was also a city with mixed cultures, especially between two World Wars. But here it's like artificially made. People just come from all around the world to seek new perspective for their lives. In my home city in Poland various people lived there like for centuries, Poles, Ukrainians, Russians, Belarusians, Jews... All mixed up and thus there are still remnants of not only old Roman Catholic churches but also there are Greek Catholic ones and synagogues around the area.

I've also started feeling some kind of nostalgia recently. And I had never thought I would feel anything like that. But after some time you begin to miss. One good thing is Polish community is well established in London. 2 days ago I went into a bakery to apply for a job as I saw they needed staff. I started talking to one girl, she eventually asks me where I'm from... She was Polish too. But damn, I was just passing by and I didn't have my CV with me and it was a down side of it. I left my name and my phone number but the guy fobbed me off, I guess. Too bad.

And shit, how lonely I feel here. The other day I took a train to Tottenham to buy some stronger weed, it seems you have to ask for skunk here to get anything similar in strength to what we've got in Poland. Regular weed is like some weak breed mixed with tea or something... (10 quids / 3g of "tea" thing vs. 30 quids / 1/8th of an ounce of something that blasts you after just one pipe). Oh, and I got to some nice hash from North Africa, it gets you stoned so gradually, really nice. But it's kind of sad to go every day for a few puffs to kill this London depression.

I gotta find some job shortly or I will have to fly back to Poland. And it seems to be getting worse and worse in my motherland. I don't want to go back. On the other side seeing how London changes people is also sad.

People made out of wax and foam melting and bubbling, sticky, spiderwebs,
Fluffy people turning into penguins
Watching People disappear and subtract themselves from existence
It was raining when it wasn't
So loud, couldn't hear what people were saying,
Melting
Could see though people
People turning into ghosts
Imaging seeing people I know and talking to them
Hell
Felt burns on my skin
Black ness
I Had to Subtract my self from existence too
Join them
Watching every thing end
Gone
Where the fuck am I
Bottomless hole
Help
Me
Please
Help



Addition signs on the faces of people who would survive
Minus signs on the faces of people who would die
I had a minus sign on my face

Walking so fast, time speeding up
They told me i had to subtract myself and join them, collapse, kill myself, fucking kill me now please just end it all I don't want to suffer through this anymore
Accepting what was about to happen and feeling myself slowly remove myself from existence
Constantly looking for Sarah but couldn't find her, only she could help me, I need Sarah to be safe
Scratches on my arms, the demons and spirits wanted to escape
So dark and alone

so uh.... here goes nothin. have any of yall felt truly hopeless? i certainly do..

i am 21 years old, i just turned 21 on september 22. i am an addict. im not afraid to say it. drugs used to be a whole lot of fun for me. when i was 14, i first smoked weed. that was like MAGIC. since then, for 7 years, i have constantly been wasted. 24/7.
you name it, ive been on it. medical marijuana, schwag, reggies, hydro, xanax, klonopin, vicodin, oxycontin, suboxone, subutex, percocet, cocaine, crack cocaine, crystal meth, beers of all sorts, whiskey, vodka, magic mushrooms, 2ci, 2ce, jimsonweed, datura, strawberry daquiries.......i think you get the point

but the drug ive fallen hardest for is BLACK TAR HEROIN. ive always loved taking opiate pills like vicodins and oxycontins, but opiates were never my thing until i tried HEROIN. i was 18. it blew my mind, and thats a huge understatement. since then ive been hooked. it only took that one time. just once.........



so, for 3 years ive been a junky. a complete junky. now all i know how to do is get $, and of course get high. on a daily basis. on one hand, heroin is my true love. on the other hand, i hate it. hate how it controls every aspect of my life. it tells me where to go, what to do, what to say, you know what i mean? so i hate it and i love it. i wish i'd never done it that first time.

its disturbing how much i like heroin. more than anything. sex, socializing, whatever. fuck that. nothing compares to heroin. its got me. at this point, its not even like i want it. i NEED it.

i find myself thinking my life is over at age 21. that im gona be a hopeless junky for the rest of my life. like the Notorious BIG's album tile, i am Ready to Die. im not afraid to die. the way i see it is, im gona be a junky forever, whats there to live for?

I hope im wrong.

Opiates were the first to show me the blackness of thought. They were a thick dark covering, a comfort and a menace. It was as if it were a parasite who's form of reproduction was to convince me to do more of it thereby proliferating it's future rather than my own. A tool of superfluous value. They served no purpose except to stop my spiritual growth dead in it's tracks. The smiles and the dreams of the nod were why I stayed around. The slapstick happy face with the closed eyes behind which played dark reds and purples.... Visions of my childhood and of flying vehicles who's fuel was sand. The sand was the time I was eating through at an alarming rate, the vehicle was the wide covering I had granted my soul, asleep for the time behind selfish pleasure seeking and isolation.

The stimulant and the empathogen was the caricature. The two dancing fools who's laughter drowned out the sound of my voice. The dance lasted too long, the nights burned on with a sickly blue fire in my mind. The speech erratic and unconcerned, overfamiliar with the new faces and a short falling lie to the old. A confidence fueled by the outpouring of neurotransmitters, the joke cracked and the hours spent an homage to the death of pathways. The forced smile and the convinced blackened eye. The mind reels behind the quickness and the intensity of the peak, the eyes turned into the small windows of slot machines, spinning with de-pitted cherries. The heart eaten and exchanged for the face. The oversweetened delicious caramel of grey matter, burned to taste.

The psychedelic and the entheogen were the window past death. A glimpse beyond our notions of time and experience, the mind manifested in its most immediate form. Instinct acted on without pretension, thought replaced by speech replaced by action. The vision a swirl of Aztec artwork painted in front of the eyes imposed on the mirror of consciousness. All consciousness is self consciousness. The object isn't the object itself but the object in relation to myself. The other isn't the other but the other as it views me. The eyes the window into the soul are incapable of deception, the face grimaced in pain is the purest form of honesty. The truth is only the consistent lie, the plastic is apparent on the factory made packaging of the yuppie reality. The nine to five, the cradle to the grave. A lie we are told from birth is the promise of the greater after death, the man robbed of his mortality moves without haste or urgency. He toils for the tomorrow that only escapes into the next, his eyes forever fixed on the promise to come so that he can't turn back to face the eyes of the slave driver whipping his back. The infuriated tongue held in respect for material wealth, "yes sir, no sir, my apology sir, my condolences sir". The fate of a mans happiness decided by the content of his intellect rather than the color of his collar.

The sleeping pill, the cigarette smoked for a few minutes less of this time in which we burn. The bottle chased to the last drop in search of the man he used to be. The admittance that no matter how we view this world that our minds have defected against us. The television ad that tells us to watch instead of dream, to sleep instead of to rest, to smile instead of to love.

Every once in a while I remember something I did when I was a child. Or something that was done to me by my father or my brother or a cousin, some injury, some humilliation. And it seems like it happened to another person a century or two ago. I'm not really sure of what I remember really took place at all. You can't build your life relying on the perception of a little boy, on the echos of some memory. You got to let all that shit go, you got to start fresh. Every single day you have got to start again.

I guess I'm new to bluelight and blogging. But I was thinking about my fellow man and I realized I have no faith left in mankind,we can't prevail from this reality. In a world of greed and poverty how can I see diffrent picture than the truth. I live in houston
I. See it everyday its allaround me.
And I guesss..its becasse the blue devil is still in my heart.
But its all good I lov

Things are going well. Pets are well, old lady is well, also. I have one week of work before my vacation begins. I am still needing to do shopping for holidays. I am excited about my NYE candyflip experience. I don't really have much to say just wanted a note that all is well. It was not always like this for me.

I promised myself I would leave the previous entry up here without looking at it for a week. I've done that, and now I've come back and read it, and I still think every word is true.

Actually, apart from the poems I've written, it's probably the most truth I've written in a blog.

Now that some time has passed, the screen name I thought he was using has become dormant, and I think either I was kidding myself (although I can't imagine anyone else writes like he does... I just can't...) or he realised I knew it was him and he decided to stop posting.

That same night I sifted through Facebook, Myspace, trying to find out where he was and what he was doing. For whatever reason I couldn't find anything and I think I realised fairly quickly that what I was doing was absolute madness. A total breach of his privacy.

I guess I wanted to know if he was still with her and if he was happy.

Not that I think I could ever win him back. I'm too far gone for that.

I can't wait for Christmas and New Year to be over. New Year was something that he and I shared a few times. The best times. FUCKING HELL I MISS HIM.

This too shall pass. I'm just tired and I'm lonely. There's nothing I can do to change the past.

Right on bébé.

A new post in my blog.

Wut to say? I'm high as a double combo'd cat.

Zis is verry cool. Druughs.

Wat a program.

-to be continued-

I have things on my mind that are eating away at me and I have no idea what to do.. Relationship issues, combatting suicidal thoughts, and other things.. If you want to help or talk or whatever just pm me.

I have no idea what I'm doing and what a blog is, I will read the docs when I'm not stoned. In the meantime I will treat this like my personal scratch pad. In other words, what I write will only be understandable to me.


-water intoxication

Back in the day there was a beautiful, kind and truly caring Moderator who handled this section when it was called 'Journals'. Her empathetic nature and genuine care was always sincere and warm

Well... SHE'S BACK!!!!!!

Please welcome back our new Blogs Moderator... spork

Alcohol is a vicious poison designed to pacify and neutralize the proletariat working class. Deny us access to gabaergics and deny us health insurance, you rotten filthy little animals. Fuck you. Prohibition is like putting out a grease fire with a bottle of shampoo, while paying a bunch of hired thugs to use the same bottle and move onto there next abomination. Took me 6 years of drinking to realize this. There are far superior drugs on the market, you just have to look around. See you through looking glass kids.




This is going on by the way. Can't say I'm opposed.




I'm going to go play in the sun and roll in the grass in the park, reading short stories by kurt vonnegut and ken kesey, drinking water like a madman to replace the oral fixation drinking and smoking cigarettes have caused me. I am now free of both those things. Wellbutrin SR seems to be complimenting my small dose of klonopin significantly.





I'm both happy, productive, and talkative, too talkative some would say. Fuck those some. I have a right to say whatever I goddamn well please.



A woman asked me if two large bags were hers yesterday, waiting in line for a simple haircut a friend was having. She had little broods of failure, which I believe is selfish and wrong, but what can you do.



A simple kind no was my reply, and then a moment later I made a silly little joke about homeland security. "Call them up I said." Unattended bags are dangerous. Don't you realize we're in goddamn war?



Utter flag-sucking nonsense and these nitwits eat it up via 24 hour "news" (balls, I know journalism and that ain't it. Those fuckers should be stripped of their cozy little place in society and thrown to the packs of WORKING POOR like most citizens in this country)like a Chinese buffet gone mad on strong indica strains. She wasn't please with my humor "Call homeland security" I said with a big smile on me face. She looked at me as though I'd told her to wash her cunt out with antifreeze and stick her head in the oven.



Fuck those people. I love and tolerate most everyone and despite my vicious prose that I write, I'm actually undeniably the most kind and courteous person you could run into on the street. I'm broke and 2 steps away from being completely homeless, in title. I've a job now so its different. 6 months I had no such endeavor, yet I saw a woman on the main street here in Lawrence with a sign that said she was homeless. I had 53 cents to my name, dropped it in her can, then talked to her for half an hour. It made me feel good, and I'm sure it made her feel good. Most people don't give a shit about things like that, they're too busy washing their Volvos, watering there stupid grass when theres a goddamn record breaking drought going on, and filling up they're fat pocket books/wallets with evil treacherous garbage. Fuck those people. That's all. See the cat? see the cradle? Ho ho.