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i am obsessing over a text from a friend. normally i would be rather pleased with myself and not really care about the repercussions of the text. but i actually have a conscience it seems. which i guess is a good thing.

sometimes i feel silly making cryptic entries like this. but then there are thoughts i feel like i need to get out. except that i don't feel like typing a whole history of my friend and i. nor do i really have a lot to say on the matter. other than yeah, the text was somewhat unexpected.

my trainer asked why i keep showing up every week and whatnot when i don't really seem to care about being healthy. i thought it was an interesting question and i don't really have an answer...

it came up because he was talking about how most of the people he trains replace their bad habits with exercise. and that they generally get annoyed with the hangovers and feeling like shit. he said that i am his only client (that he knows of anyhow) that continues to get unsober regularly.

i suppose it is odd that i don't really like myself but exert the effort to exercise. i like the attention i get from looking good and like the random text from a friend, i usually get an ego boost from it. but at the end of the day my head is still as active as ever and i want a break from it. and the easiest way to do that is to become unsober.

using the word unsober is prolly odd too. i am not too concerned with what i am consuming, i turn to alcohol because it is easy to acquire. but i've done the same thing when i had plentiful access to g and ketamine. hell, when i don't have substances i turn self destructive. i guess i am always at battle with myself and take the easy way out with drugs.

i think that i am going to work on getting my head into decent shape in 2012. i don't really know how i plan on doing that. i've been looking up therapists and prolly should actually call one. i'm kinda nervous tho. because i don't really know what it is i would be seeing them about. i'm not exactly depressed (last time i was depressed and had a fairly decent idea why) and my anxiety isn't too out of control. i don't know if therapy can help with disliking myself.

my friend has a tendency of saying that i get stuck in my head. i think that is what is happening now. i am becoming over analytical about things. and the more i think about things, the less "ok" i become with them. but the things are varied and change from day to day. it is not one concrete thing that i can pinpoint.

and on that note, i need to head to work out. maybe i will come back and edit this. or maybe delete it. or maybe just leave it.

I almost killed myself this weekend after having a bad trip on mushrooms and hearing voices that told me that I had to kill myself, otherwise they'd get me later. and even after the trip ended and I was sober, I still felt like I had to do it, and I still sort of feel it now. I went through hell and saw things people shouldn't have to see, I felt burns on my skin, I was the most terrified I've ever felt in my life and I just wanted it to end so when they told me to kill myself I almost did it. luckily I ran into someone who took care of me and saved me from some of the darkness but there was no way they could completely tear me out of that trip.

I'm pissed off. because I asked my ex for 4g and he just grabbed a random bag and without telling me, gave me 8 grams instead. he never told me that he didn't measure it out. and he laughed when he told me much much later, once I was completely sober.
it didn't look like 8 because it was crushed up but it still looked off. I ate it all anyways..

And now he's telling my sister that I never specified how much i wanted, trying to cover his ass so he doesn't look bad, since they\re good friends. trying to make me look like the idiot. I'm sure he gave me it just for laughs, but it wasn't fucking funny when you almost fucking kill yourself and feel like you'll forever be fucked in the head after going through all that torture, burns on your skin, watching people melt and bubble, and watching people subtract themselves from existence and being told to join them. I want to die after seeing all that shit. it was fucking awful. i want to kill him for putting me through that shit and then making me look like the idiot. fuck you alex I hope you go through the same hell that I went through. I hope you fucking kill yourself.

I have done lot of times LSD, high doses and good quality, I love the chaotic feeling of DXM which I did so many times, I also strongly did Ketamine some time ago... K it's still, to this day, the most powerful drug that made me feel that the trip itself was reality and life and encapsulated me in a fragment of a an infinite time line.

So, yesterday I was given 60mg 2-CE.
I did 10mg some years ago with LSD and it become the most colorful LSD trip of my life. It was awesome.
So thinking about getting a 'colorful trip' during the night with the hope of sleeping to go to work the next day, I did 20mg 2-CE gelcaps.

It took almost like an hour to start. My stomach was empty, except that I did 400mg Tramadol just some hours before. I wasn't planning on doing nor getting 2-CE, but I found it irresistible. Thankfully, I did like 6mg Clonazepam before with the Tramadol. I also did 0,2mg Clonidine. I did wake up that day with a 200mg Modafinil dose to go to my job as usual.

Well, I wasn't expecting something like this at all. It was the most mind blowing trip of my life. I think I enjoyed the the trip pretty well for something so mindfucking to happen.

The trip had a subtle feeling to K, a lot to LSD, and a lot to 'something else' that I never experienced before. The drug potenced the Tramadol to the sky, I was getting an opiate feeling almost as strong as Oxycodone. It's hard to tell, yeah, but it enhanced ^3 the opiate feeling.
And, along with this, I was having the most powerful OEVs of my life (but not CEVs, K still holds the 1st pole in spiritual change and CEVs totally out of control).
What was so awesome to me about 2-CE? that the entire trip if I wanted to 'come back' from a mental loop/hole, I could do it instantly and act pretty ok.

But, and finally, what CHANGED my life with 2-CE, was the mental sharpness during the trip, asking to myself so many questions and answering them SO logically, feeling like I was constructing 'layers of sense' to think the best LOGICAL way for my present and future.

Words alone cannot describe a 2-CE trip. It is really hardcore, and lot of moments during the trip I figured how easily a person can go insane with this.
It wasn't very 'spiritual', it was a constructive trip. I remember during the plateau, how many things I was able to 'decipher' so easily, things that I needed an answer all my life, and 2-CE temporally 'reconstructed' my brain to answer them.
I thought a lot about my job and mentally judged almost all the trip about the life I was doing. After no one knows how many mental loops and layers of answers to prevent about looping the same thought again, I was able to get further and further to the answer, to the core itself.
It was just me being me. Me doing what I loved, failing when I wasn't interested in something, and succeeding when I really wanted something.

The aftereffects/day after felt so marked with the thoughts I had during my trip that I was decided to don't skip my job, even if I was mentally totally calm. I took some Pseudoephedrine and Modafinil to wake me up for work, but it felt like a cup coffee. I was mentally neutral, and all my senses were totally sharp.


I don't know what will happen from now on. I feel like I wake up from a very long dream, and now I'm ready to face anything -if I want to.

I still have 40mg 2-CE which I really don't know what I will do with it. I don't feel like I need to repeat the trip again, at least soon. It's not that I didn't enjoy it, it's like.. you have to respect the drug.

I just want to relax on my bed and sleep now. I'm very tired. I feel neutral. Not happy, but mentally sharp. But I'm so tired.

2-CE gave me all the answers my inner self asked. The neutral feeling it's unique.

I don't have anything more to say.

For all that is wrong with this island:

1) 4 Islamic Insurgencies

2) 3 Communist Insurgencies

3) Soldiers giving gasoline enemas out of glass sodapop bottles

4) Endemic Kidnapping for Ransom

5) Protection Rackets

6) Monthly earthquakes

7) Volcanoes

8) Tsunamis

9) Flooding

10) King cobras

11) Scorpions

12). Crocodiles

13) Ebola

14) Dengue

15) Malaria

16) Drug Resistant TB,

and most any other man made and natural disaster...did I include cannibalistic armies of child soldiers who lop off heads and drink the blood while using kneecaps as sacred medallions...one thing we never had to worry about was Typhoons. Mindanao sits far outside the Typhoon Belt. Joysa's island, Luzon, where Manila is located, literally gets 30 plus each year. Imagine a region of America getting 30 odd hurricanes each year? Remember, such storms come in a three to four month season, so Luzon is getting basically 8 a month. Of course only 7 of the 30 odd storms equal a Class 3 Hurricane but still, that is A LOT.

Here on Mindanao we could at least feel blessed seeing Luzon on the telly. Some readers may recall that less than a month ago Joysa and her family were sitting on their roof and getting food packages (rotten by the way) from Air Force helicopters.

So, we had one reason to feel fortunate. Lo and behold, out of nowhere we got slammed by a major typhoon, moving off now. Since 4PM Friday until now, we have been pounded, even had to go onto generator power for most of the last 20 hours. I had my mobile as always and hardly felt the effects. We live in cement homes, thick brick walls, unlike 95% of the island. The usual home is a bamboo framed, split bamboo floored and Nipa Palm leaf thatched hut, one room. I have posted photos in the past of these "nipa homes."

From 4PM Friday until Saturday morning 8AM, there were 256 known deaths here, meaning at least 1,000 actual deaths in real terms (many here don't even have birth certificates. Every coastal town has stilt homes extending out into reefs offshore, all collapsing like tents when the winds get heavy). In that same time period, 4PM Friday to 8AM Saturday, 16 hours, we had- officially- 180 fucking milimeters of rain. Now forget the winds, 180 mm of water, for you Metrically challenged Americans that is 7.86 inches of rain, coming down hard and fast.

I have spent Monsoon in Munai, in India, and never came close to that number. Anyway, I've included some photos. If you ever feel like your life has gone to shit, take a peek at these photos.

Remembered line from a long forgotten poem.


I can't stop falling in love.

Every feminine graceful nature seeps into my pores like a skyhook and sets its drifters.

2nd Niight at the new old job. Worked with a beautiful mexican woman, fairly good English. 4 years in this country.

Body language is the universal language anyhow.


I've her number. I can't wait until I get paid. In all my 26 years I've never done the typical dance. Getting the number, setting a date, then proceeding from there. It's always been atypical.

I might yet just break this streak. I find a common ground with people who aren't of western origin. More partnership, less dominator style of culture and heritage.

In other news, it's fucking jolly well cold. 22 with the windchill and a 22 minute speedwalk home with only my own cornfed gumption and 24 fluid ounces of 'Four Loko' brand malt beverage to steady my step and keep my pace. I'm now warm and sniffing pregabalin in intervals of 50 mg per half hour, just for the sake of it.

I'm also planning on modding this forum.

Terminally yours,

Scott.

So I actually got a fucking job.

Ran out of hydrocodone yesterday.

Can't get in touch with any of my connections. Perhaps they're dead.

I have my first shift tonight, starting at 10pm-6am. It's just retail but it's that wonderful holiday time of the year. I'm pretty sure I am going to be able to move around so the crazy legs won't come around. I took a muscle relaxer and an NSAID as well as my rx'd benzos and whatever scrapings of oxy were left in my straw. My gf called me a pathetic loser. I just have to get thru tonight. I don't know how bad it will be. Perhaps some of my new coworkers will be friendly and on a similar wavelength as myself, since they're overnight folks... I'd love to get some restaurant work but this is all I have at the moment... School is pretty much over for me. I have to somehow become a fucking useful person by christmas so I can celebrate it with my friends and family (what little I've got) but I really don't see that happening. No matter how much pot I smoke or how much alcohol I drink, my appetite doesn't really return until I can get a hold of some fucking opiates. Sigh. Getting desperate. The last thing I want to be is desperate because I find that desperation is when you get into the most trouble. But we'll see. Maybe I will run into some pill head such as myself at work. It takes one to know one, right? D: I'm feeling somewhere between completely shitty and a zombified mess right now. I have to be out of here in 3 hours so unless some pills or dope falls out of the sky and into my lap, this will be my life for the next 10 or so hours.

Wish me luck... at least I was able to sleep last night, after my 10mgs of hydrocodone sort of wore off... I really hope I don't have to deal with too many customers at the moment. D: People doing last minute Christmas shopping... like, yeah, you really care about your Grandma, waiting for the last possible minute to buy her a gift, right... Oh well. We shall see what happens. If I shit myself, I just won't come back. HAHAHAHA... *cries*

Great song btw thank u kid cudi
Anyway its currently 4 21 am i cant sleep again wish i could call someone but its early and most people i know r in a time zone where its 6 21 sooo doubt they will be up
i seem to have made it a habit to get really wasted and drunk dial people almost nightly
attractive i know... i am lonely... and i dont have access to drugs...probly not the best way of coping but still an improvement by far from miami

Looking forward to experiencing a positive swing and all that it will bring. I just came out of some sticky mud and I'm glad to be free of it.

When one has been angry for a very long time, one gets used to it. And it becomes comfortable, like... like old leather. And finally... becomes so familiar that one can't ever remember feeling any other way.

A continuation...

As Matityahu led the villagers into the hills and canyons of what the West now calls the "West Bank," other villages, hearing of the confrontation, also hid in the wilderness. Some wanted to fight the foreigners, while others wanted to avoid the Greek's revenge that was sure to follow.

One of the villages that did begin fighting back, had its encampment surrounded. Being the Jewish Sabbath (Friday sundown to Saturday sundown), the elders of that village forbade their warriors from fighting on the Sabbath, even if attacked by the Greeks. The Greeks, banking on their knowledge of Jewish practices, chose the Sabbath to launch their assault on the Jewish encampment.

To the last person, including women and children, the entire village was exterminated. Hearing of this, Matityahu preached that it is a sin not to fight the enemies of the Jewish People. Using guerilla warfare, including Sabbath attacks, the "Maccabis" were able to defeat the Greco Sryian occupiers. Upon liberating Jerusalem they found the Temple defiled. As they re-consecrated this one edifice central to the Jewish Faith, they found themselves short of the ritual oil needed to light the ceremonial candelbra, a "menorah" (m'norah) a giant brass candle holder with three candles on either side, and one larger candle in the middle, which is used to light the smaller candles on the sides. Looking all over the Temple complex a single jar of purified ceremonial oil was discovered. Unfortunately, it would only last 24 hours while the manufacture of new oil would take a week.

Lighting the single candle in the middle, the Jews prayed, as some went about preparing the ritual oil. A miracle occurred, that single day's oil lasted a full 8 days, enough time to prepare the new oil. Unfortunately, Matityahu, the leader of the Jewish warriors, died of old age and never saw his country liberated. Dying, he named one son- Shimon (Simon)- as his successor. Shimon and his five brothers then founded the Hasmonean Monarchy, fully restoring Jewish Sovereignity.

The holiday of Channukah is about revenge and honouring one's ancestors and reaping the "miracles" that come from such pious behaviour.

I'm on a coupé cruiser
Dealing my Adderall

Soft secrets are for all
Waitin for times better

Howdy? Fine?

2-FA + MXE + JWH-122 + Moroccan hash, now that's a cool combo for going thru the night in bliss :D

Sleep tight

Yo man, cant figure this shit out. . . I dunno, I like the idea of a blog no one has the slightest idea about. . . I hope people reading my profile can read my blogs. I am a Poet, Musician, Buddhist and general lover of all things Pharmacological. I hope to find friends on here. I've just gotten my Suboxone 'scrip. I plan to take it as prescribed, as I have not in the past and it does nothing but lead to the worst kind of pain/agony. . . I dunno, gonna explore this site some more and hopefully post a few times a week. Time to make my profile more interesting. . . . We dwell inside our Constellation-Cage, stuck here for now, and in a Blind Rage. Constant-Elation. Blind Rage.

Psychotherapy with my first male therapist. It's going decently. It's only been 3 sessions but I kind of look forward to them now. I don't know what's going on really. He talks and then I talk and then he asks me something really fucking difficult and then I cry and all of a sudden it's time to go. He said something about giving me a Rorschach test. Of all the hokey things in the world... a fucking Rorschach test. Oh well. He's so forgetful it probably won't happen anyway. It's such a weird relationship -- therapist and "patient", I guess, is the right word. I don't understand what it's supposed to do for me. I do feel somewhat more "free", I guess, getting some things off of my chest and out into the open... well, as open as a therapist/client relationship is. Ha. His insight into my psyche is kind of scarily right sometimes.

He's mostly okay but I don't like the comments he makes about my weight. I know I'm a fucking cow beast. I know I could stand to lose a few million pounds. But I'm not there for an eating disorder even though that's been one of my issues in the past. Like, I'm not blind... I know I'm fucking fat... Jesus. And then he offered me some cookies?! Ugh, other females reading this would understand. My dad did that a lot. He'd tell me I'm a fat cow and then make lasagna for dinner. What the fuck. Way to send your daughter to bulimia-ville on the fast track. But that is neither here nor there.

I've only slightly mentioned drugs in therapy. I know I have a problem with opiates/opioids. I am physically and mentally addicted to them and when I can't get them, things aren't pretty. There have been consequences in my life due to my use of pills. According to my therapist, I am also supposedly experiencing a "complicated" grieving process because of the fucked up relationship my mother and I had right before she died so suddenly. So I feel like drugs aren't really the problem but rather a symptom of a bigger problem which I obviously don't want to deal with. So I mask it by being high all of the time. If money and legality weren't issues, I feel like using oxycodone daily wouldn't be such a huge deal. I can function on it. I feel like I function better when I am on it, actually.

But I bet most addicts feel that way.

I did mention that I took quite a bit of LSD in high school. That's about it. It's hard to describe what a panic attack feels like to me so I said... "It's like a bad trip". Then he asked if I've had bad trips... and I said I'd had a few. I think most people who've taken LSD have had a bad trip or at least a rough time during a trip. It's the nature of the beast. Or perhaps it's just the LSD Gods punishing me for disrespecting it, I don't know. I do know now that a punk rock concert in Brooklyn is not the place where you want to trip on LSD, though.

He said something about cocaine being less damaging to your mind than "grass" (as he put it) because of the hallucinogenic effects of "grass". I don't know, man, I've never bugged out on marijuana. I mean, maybe when I smoked up after buying a felony amount of drugs and then had to go home on the train smelling like a fucking Phish concert, I've been paranoid, but not psychotic. I sure as hell have had some minor psychoses after a cocaine binge. I've smoked pot almost every day for the past 3 or so years. My lungs and throat are worse for wear but otherwise I feel like if I had a line of cocaine or a bong of weed, the coke would send me "one toke over the line" whereas the pot would make me giggly, hungry and probably sleepy.

Set and setting, set and setting, set and setting!

So I have another job interview tomorrow. I am feeling rather confident about it, though, for some reason. Unlike most other times I've had interviews. I kind of go in feeling like I'm not going to get the job and why am I even wasting my time and blah blah blah... Maybe there's something to having a positive outlook.

Anyway I should probably go wash my hair now. I have to fucking be up and looking peppy in 6 hours. I hope I get this job and I hope it's more than just seasonal because I really fucked up our finances... Gotta pay some bills, man. I also have to pay off some tuition so I can go back to school next semester. I don't think I'll ever be eligible for financial aid again, it seems. But we'll see.

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>

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[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.