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Whether it's doctor prescribed or given to you by your homeboy Kelly, there are a few steps one should take before ingesting a new substance.

1) What is the chemical name of the substance?
A basic example- Ecstasy is MDMA (methylenedioxymethamphetamine)

This is one of the most crucial steps. It helps one become acquainted with the substance.

2) What are the positive effects?
Taking drugs is all about mindset. Without a good mind, one runs the risk of increasing the negative effects of the drug. In other words, it's healthy to have fun.

3) What are the short term negative effects?
How the drug will effect you an hour to 36 hours after use. This includes any pre-existing medical conditions that may become aggravated from drug use; such as using stimulants with a heart problem or high blood pressure.


4) What are long term negative effects?
How will the drug effect me in the next months and years?

5) What are the main receptors that the drug binds to?

A self-medicating drug user, should have a good enough mind to at least be considered an amateur chemist.

An example: Benzodiazepines are partial to GABA-A receptor sites while a drug such as GHB is partial to GABA-B. While they are respectively similar in their CNS depressing effects, benzodiazepines can actually be used to help counter seizures caused by GHB. While a drug like alcohol will exacerbate an overdose.

The human mind fascinates me. Capable of such great and wonderous things, soaring to unimaginable heights...but for every Einstein, Renroir, and Da Vinci, there are 50 million dickheads running around babbling bullshit, hell, I may even be one. Yet, every once in awhile some truly stupendous asshole comes along. Case in point, this weekend, on a domestic American flight a 47 year old man sat in his seat watching films on his laptop. Nothing unusual there, right? The only problem however is that a passenger sitting parallel to him found the film atrocious , seeing as how it was Child Pornography. The enraged passenger immediately informed a flight attendant and upon landing his laptop was examined and voila, baby piddling. This was in First Class no less. I mean really, you need to spend a couple of thousand US for some comfy leg room and then you look over and see that? Hahaha, I am afraid of what I might have done had I been the man who glanced over and saw that shit.

In my culture, we become men at 13, girls become women at 12, but in our day and age we have moved forward a bit, girls may marry at 15 or 16, but in the end, after puberty, age really is just a number. Culture defines mores AND morals. In many places 7 and ax year old girls are already keeping house as their mums work in the fields. By 14 such girls are much more emotionally and mentally mature than most 20 year old Western females. Males? It all depends on the culture.

Traditionally, Muslims for example- no matter the ethnicity, consider a boy of 12 to be a man. This is the age where Muslim boys receive their circumcisions and thereafter, in many places, their parents begin looking for a suitable match to contract a marriage. We Jews, as I noted, aren't too different in that regard. Indeed, I was married just after I turned 17, to a 15 year old woman I had never met. The issue I find abhorrent is the Arab and Muslim (they aren't one and the same) allowance of marriage between adult males and pre-pubescent females, say, an 80 year old man marrying a 9 year old girl. That to me is pure exploitation.

For any European junkies reading this, the Afghan opiate trade helps to fuel that particularly abhorrent practice. As in many under-developed nations, peasants receive loans at planting time in exchange for a set, advantageous price for the entire opium crop. If, as in the last two seasons, the crop is sparse, the farmer has no chance of meeting his onus. In such cases farmers are sometimes offering a young daughter in exchange to wipe the debt clean. So, in an-indirect way, VERY indirect- Europeans insatiable need for Afghan Heroin is helping to fuel a most heinous practice but then of course, it is the culture that actually fuels it because even without debt, most Afghan enthicities. Use their daughters as chattel anyway.

A particularly disgusting case took place in Cebu City a month ago. In the suburb of Cordova, on Mactan Island (where Magellan got his ass waxed by a poison arrow, damn, I hate when that happens), a young couple with six children ages 4 to 15, were nabbed for running a cyber sex den in which their own children were the performers. Standing off camera mum and daddy directed the little tykes to perform alone, or- and this is especially creepy- on each other...having the 11 year old daughter and 4 year old boy, well you get the idea I'm sure.

Police, actually the NBI, the Flip equivalent of the FBI, raided the home as five of the kids were doing their thing. The eldest, a 15 year old boy, was clothed and not "on duty." The mother freely admitted what she and her husband had been doing but swears she only did it for poverty and if they allow her to keep her children she will sell dried fish- though I reckon that IF she could do that now, she could have chosen that route before mentally and physically ducking up every child she has ever brought into the world. The only bright spot is that she was 6 months pregnant and that therefore they weren't able to violate that soon to be born infant.

Their clientele was entirely Western, which doesn't suprise me at all, unfortunately. The father said that they were merely doing the same thing as their neighbors, it wasn't at all unusual. Sadly, I know for a fact that he isn't lying. In urbanised slums, like Joysa's for example, many people run their own cyber sex nonsense. In fact, her lazy brother is supported by some gay guy, "Boobah," the name makes me laugh because in Bisaya the word means "Big Tits" (it was Rizza's nickname in school since large chested women here are considered ugly, unattractive, the word is a put down. I used to explain to Rizza that she shouldn't feel bad about it. Of course Joysa is even bigger but living on the edges of Metro Manila Joysa is much more aware that in the West it is a desirable trait).

Anyway, Boobah? He/she was the one whom I discussed a dozen or so entries ago. A norwegian truck driver fell in love with him/her online and left his wife and job to come to the Philippines, only to return home brokem hearted and a lot poorer to boot. Let us home he didn't catch any diseases in the process.

supper tuesdays is better than mondays

Thursdays are the best days.

I've been on Suboxone for the past three weeks or so, and I took my last one yesterday, or at least that's the plan... It's been a month, though, since I've actually been high on any traditional opiate...

It's funny... I have five Lortabs and five Roxi 30's sitting right here in front of me, but the pull on my mind they used to have just ... isn't there. I should be happy about that, but there still seems to be a large void missing from my soul. The missing chunk is right here before my eyes, but it's like it has deformed, and the key won't fit anymore...

I don't remember what it feels like to be high anymore. And I want to remember that warm euphoria so very badly... I know the receptor blockade from the bupe is still running strong in my brain, so it would be pointless to try... The pills themselves are like a hollow memory...

It doesn't make me happy that I've forgotten, it doesn't make me sad, just ... hollow...

day after thanksgiving 2011111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

3 dinners in 24 hours

3c1g1b

beano

2x mxe (2ci?) quinoa dubstep endler shrimp snails duckweeeeeeeeeeed

Tonight was one of the worst nights I've had in a very long time. I had a pet rat, and she was so sweet and friendly. I brought her out to play like I do every night. She crawled into my arms and I started to rub her below her ears, that's her favorite spot to be pet. The she started coughing/ Wheezing and within a few seconds she started shaking then stopped moving altogether. I panicked then and gave her rat CPR, but still no movement. I feel so awful as in sick to my stomach, I can't help but feel this was my fault. I don't know what happened. I loved her so much. She's gone. It all happened in my arms. She was too young to die less than a year, so I feel that this is my fault. How can I make amends? I don't think I can. What happens to a rat when they die? I can't help thinking about her and where she is now. She was one of my best friends, she used to take sips off my beers and enjoyed a smoke-out every now and again. I miss her so much already. I feel so much guilt right now and I deserve it.

LOOKING FOR LIKE MINDED INTELLECTUAL PEOPLE TO DISCUSS VARIOUS TOPICS

I feel sad but I guess I have to stick my chin out and keep trying. I know what must be done so I think its time to be brave and change things for myself.

it is thanksgiving in the US. I dont really celebrat
e in the traditional sense of getting together with family. i don't think i have gone to my parents' house for the last four or years. I've spent it with good friends instead

which inspires me to make a list of what i am thankful for:

• my friends. they are an amazing group of people and i don't think I would be here if it was not for them
• my husband. he is also my friend but i figured he deserves his own mention. sometimes our odd relationship annoys me but i can't imagine things any other way
• my job. i make enough money and have enough flexibility that I can travel and do what I want.
• my family. we get along much better when i only see them a few times a year

On November 23rd, 2009 the worst single case of violence against journalists took place here. That morning a 7 vehicle convoy left the municipality of Buluan bound for the provincial capital of Maguindanao Province, the town of Shariff Aguak. The convoy, consisting of 32 journalists, 2 female attorneys, and female members of the Mangudadatu Clan hoped to deliver the Certificate of Candidacy for the Vice Mayor of Buluan, Esmael "Toto" Mangudadatu who was then attempting to run for provincial governor. The province was under the control of the Ampatuan Clan who didn't appreciate an upstart running for office without the Ampatuan Clan Chief, or Datu's, approval. The Clan Chief, Datu Andal Salibo Ampatuan Sr intended to have one of his dozens of children, in this case Andal Jr, run and of course win since victory is assured.

Andal Sr, then the Governor but at his 9 year term limit, had the police set a checkpoint up in the municipality of Ampatuan (the town being named for the clan), one town before the capital. Backing 60 odd policemen were the clan's paramilitary, for a total of 300 odd gunmen. Just before the convoy arrived at the checkpoint two vehicles cut into it, passing the rear vehicle and thus found themselves in the worst possible place.

Pulling up to the checkpoint they were forced to stop. The clan paramilitary was sent away and the passengers probably thought they were in a tense, but managable situation. Then Andal Jr, the would be hand picked candidate, began looking into every vehicle carefullt. Finding the would be competing candidate's wife, Genalynn Tiamzon Mangudadatu, he proceeded to beat the shit out of her as 60 police trained their M16s, M14s, and M4s on the convoy, daring anybody to even shout. A handfull of paramilitary soldiers had remained at the checkpoint. Andal Jr instructed the paras to get into the convoy's vehicles and drive them up into the hills above town to a pre-arranged site.

As the convoy made its slow, torturous ascent one of the journalists, a 24 year old man, sent a text message to his brother telling him the convoy was in deep trouble and asking him to pray for his soul because he knew they were about to be killed. At a hilltop overlooking that police checkpoint the clan paramilitary began raping all the females as some of the men began praying on their knees and begging for mercy to the paras. A beltfed M16 was set up in the bed of a pickup truck and groups of males were made to stand in front of three pits that were still being dug by government machinery. It only took seconds to kill almost all the men. The women were killed with bullets in the brain after being gang raped. Two male reporters who had criticised the Ampatuan Clan in recent articles were spared initially. One, Reynaldo "Bebot" Momay has never been found, except for his dentures. The second was hogtied on the rear seat of an SUV and made to perform fellation on a 12 gauge shotgun which then had its trigger pulled. He was then carried by the rope that hogtied him and tossed into the pits.

The men began pushing in the vehichles as well so that they would disappear but word came over a two way radio that military units not allied with the clan had entered the town and seemed to be searching for something. Everyone on site, including the heavy machine operators,eft immediately. When the unit ascended the hill, having been told that a convoy had disappeared, they found the three pits, some of the vehicles still on the edges, and the machinery still running as if the culprits had just fled.

On the second anniversary only 95 of 190 men charged have been arrested abd only 60 have been arraigned. Though Toto Mangudadatu ended up winning the election, his own clan paramilitary has murdered dozens (at least) since he came to office. Indeed, he himself has three open murder cases. The trial began streamlining live this month but only 200 people worldwide cared enough to watch. Aside from myself I reckon most viewers to be journalists. Noone cares. Sadly, nothing has changed here.

I promised to post a photo of the golden statue discovered not to far from my home. First, a couple of corrections to my earlier info; the statue was discovered in 1917, not 1922. It is 22 karat gold, not "pure," which of course is 24 karat. The statue was discovered in the Wawa Creek, off of the Agusan River, just after a flood on that creek. The tribeswoman who discovered it was bathing but did not step on it as I had been told.

According to the historical narrative she was bathing and saw the golden visage shimmering through muddy water, reached down and pulled it out. It weighs nearl two kilos (about 4 pounds) and like most of this island's treasure has been stolen by white men, in this case Americans. It was taken almost immediately to the Field Museum in Chicago whose ethnologists and anthropologists were here working when it was discovered. The poor woman who found it was given a 50 pound sack of milled rice and probably thought she was the luckiest woman in the world.

It is known as the "Golden Tara of Agusan." Taras are female Buddhas popular in a form of Buddhism that was the predominant form in what is now Indonesia and the Southern Philippines. Unfortunately, all that remains of Buddhism and Hinduism, the latter a casteless synchrestic form similar to that of Bali today, is the Sanskrit vocabulary. "Guru" is still "teacher," "Rajah" is still "prince" and on and on and on.

So, those Swedish would be cyber-sex king pins? They were scooped up and driven 22 hour overland to the Davao Penal Colony and Farm. Life humming "Don't Drop the Soap" as they break rocks next to some of the biggest and baddest Mindanao has to offer. I got to look at photos of the tunnel...Now, mind you, I used to be stationed on Philadelphi Road, the Pink Line between Gaza and Egypt? I have seen great tunnels though I retired before the Blockade of Gaza really got going. Still, they moved a hell of a lot of weaponry and since prices are lower in Egypt they smuggled a shit load of anything. Point being that a tunnel usually won't impress me but that Cagayan del Oro Tunnel was sweet and just a few meters more!

They say it would have popped up in the Reception and Diagnostic Building where the Swedes and Taiwanese Crank Manufacturers were being held but as of yet they can't exactly pin it on anyone though I reckon that when one is already doing Life it really doesn't matter. Both guys are in their low-30s, they may be able to get out in 30 years. Of course I am sure they will figure out a way out before then. Two months ago the Philippine Government signed a Prisoner Exchange with Denmark, imagine those two Swedes frustration?

I was reading online about those jerkofs at "Occupy Wall Street." OK, they occupied a private piece of property, Zuccotti Park, they caused small businesses like an acquaintance of mine's cafe to go under, then, I read that the chief organisers and financiers happen to be fucken investment bankers! I almost pissed in my shorts laughing! Not all of them but enough, and where are they laying their heads? In Zuccotti Park? Nah, in 700 Dollar a night rooms at "W" a super-trendy hotel. I love it!

Some may remember my comment about those protesters being tools? Cough...


My newest obsession is getting a metal detector. Dad, my father in law, has been needling me about it for years. His dream is gold. Me? I love history. In the 1920s, on the bank of a creek about 20 klicks north of here, a Hilltribeswoman waswashing herself in that creek when she stepped on sometging strange. She reached down and felt a small arm. She was scared but ended up digging it up. Pure gold, a Buddhist statue. The Bisaya, Rizza's tribe, were Hinduised (not quite Hindu) until Spain fucked up the game. Butuan, the city I mentioned in recent posts, roughly 110 km north of me on the coast, was a Hinduised Kingdom with embassies to China 1,600 years ago. If a golden statu of such fine workmanship (Ill post photos later) can be laying around in creeks, who knows? My kick would be the history though.

Okay, took my first dose of pms-Valproic Acid at 9pm (its now almost 11pm) and in my head I know nothing should be going on yet but by freakin god....im horney HAHA! I thought Valproic Acid was supposed to have the opposite effect, I know my tegretol did when I was younger...

Damn. HAHA.

Today's been an alright day, not 100% but alright.

I feel like looking up info on pms-Valproic Acid but I can feel the meds kicking in because I am slaging a bit . Gonna wait in bed for my gal and maybe get a happy ending tonight.

I have been watching lots of Mel Brooks movies. And have inadvertently developed a crush on the young gene wilder. I am a sucker for twinkly eyes and a quirky sense of humour!

It's almost horrifying to find myself where I am today. Yesterday I started it off with a nice big glass of wine only to graduate to whiskey and beer all before my daughter went to school. Ugh I am horribly repeating my mothers actions and fear the consequences. I have no one to be completely honest with and only have the unheard voice of the interweb to get out my emotions before they drive me crazy.

It happened over a decade ago...the choice I made to be an addict. It wasn't an outright, let's get addicted now, but more of a challenge to myself in a way. I could do it, I could take the plunge and come back unscathed, maybe with insight and creativity. Ha, what a crock of shit that was. I thought I fell for the love of my life at 16 only to reconnect with him ten years later after I lost my one real love over religous differences. My hubby now was really just a rebound that I got stuck with, pregnant too soon and now sharing his addiction to opiates. Don't get me wrong, I do love my husband but to be honest I am a better functioning person, not as angry or hotheaded when I am not around him. He left for three weeks for work and in those three weeks I was more productive and had a better relationship with my daughter than I ever had. I hate to say that I am just not sure we are really meant for each other. I like to try and tell myself that we will work together to better each other but sometimes I feel as if I'm just lying to myself. I could say loads of bad things about him, not that he's a bad person really, but lazy, unethical at times, unmotivated, moocher. ugh, it's hard because I can kinda see where he's coming from. I do love him but I really want us to grow, to better ourselves and to work hard on being happy and not just blame the world for all of our downfalls. We have a lot of things in common but sometimes I question his motives, his purity, etc...but that could just be the crazy coming out in me...
I just want so much for us to hold each other up and help each other rise to the goodness that we both have within us. I want to work for our dreams not just sit and complain and mooch. I want to motivate each other to make the right choices the healthy choices and the best choices for us and our family...

Anyways, when I reconnected with my husband (hadn't seen him in six years or so) he fell for me immediately, and me having co dependency issues took him under my wing. At the time though I didn't realize that there was anything wrong. He seemed happier and more outgoing than I remembered. Then I started seeing him take his "meds" every day. I didn't really know what they were and up until then I had only tried opiates once, when they were prescribed and a 5mg hydrocodone made me ill. I found out they were 40mg methadone wafers and he was taking a few of them daily. I was warned by a good trusted friend of mine who had done missionary work with addicts that methadone/opiate addicts are of a different nature than other addcits. I didn't understand what he meant then..I sure do now. Now that I too am an addict. One day while my hubby (then just boyfriend) was at work I got into his med stash and broke the wafer into four pieces and took one piece (ten mgs of methadone). I waiting twenty minutes and then took another piece (now total 20mg methadone) twenty minutes later I still wasn't feeling anything so I took a third piece (totalling 30mg of methadone). I started to look up online what methadone was and came across the info that that 40mg of methadone can kill a non tolerant adult. Oh shit...was I in trouble. It wasn't long after that that I became violently ill, and continued to be so for the next day or two. I am lucky that I survived that. It was probably another year before I tried an opiate again. Not long after that my hubby ran outta his meds one day and became very dope sick. VERY dope sick. He decided then that he was going to kick is 120mg or more methadone a day habit cold turkey so I helped him. It was very hard, and a very very long proccess but he did do it. Although he still occasionally uses, which has lead me to occasionally use.
For me it started with just 5mg of methadone, which could get me high as a kite, and it stayed that way for at least a year. Then I had to bump it up to 10 mgs of methadone. I use to be very responsible with it, only after work or only on day that I didn't work. But then I started taking it before work, then for days in a row. But I still kept withdrawls at bay for the most part. Never more than three days in a row.

Then I moved to a different state, one where quack doctors were everywhere. And I had surgery and was perscribed pain meds. That coupled with my addictive personality and BAM! Addiction here I am. I can now take up to 40mg methadone at once and be a perfectly functioning person throughout the day. Actually I am a better functioning person than if I am not high, at least that's what I tell myself. I am lucky though that I'm not at the point of everyday needle in my arm addiction. Right now I'm going through PAWS. I just nixed the last of my three-four month run on opiates...The physcial part of my latest detox is just about over. But the wanting is there very much. It eats away at my soul. I love opiates. I wish I could do them every day for the rest of my life. But I know that sooner or later the wonderful effects wear off and all you're left with is a massive tolerance, dependence and the shitty side effects, like irritation or constipation. But to be honest? I wish I had never fell in love with lady O. It's not only an addiction to opiates, I'm an addict in general. A functional one at that and it's not every day that I'm intoxicated but there is something about normal conscious experience that eats away at me and I feel the burning desire to alter said state of consciuosness. Either that or I want to nap all day.

I'm antsy. I can't stay in one town for very long. I want to get up and move and do something and some days I just want to die...

It's almost horrifying to find myself where I am today. Yesterday I started it off with a nice big glass of wine only to graduate to whiskey and beer all before my daughter went to school. Ugh I am horribly repeating my mothers actions and fear the consequences. I have no one to be completely honest with and only have the unheard voice of the interweb to get out my emotions before they drive me crazy.

It happened over a decade ago...the choice I made to be an addict. It wasn't an outright, let's get addicted now, but more of a challenge to myself in a way. I could do it, I could take the plunge and come back unscathed, maybe with insight and creativity. Ha, what a crock of shit that was. I thought I fell for the love of my life at 16 only to reconnect with him ten years later after I lost my one real love over religous differences. My hubby now was really just a rebound that I got stuck with, pregnant too soon and now sharing his addiction to opiates. Don't get me wrong, I do love my husband but to be honest I am a better functioning person, not as angry or hotheaded when I am not around him. He left for three weeks for work and in those three weeks I was more productive and had a better relationship with my daughter than I ever had. I hate to say that I am just not sure we are really meant for each other. I like to try and tell myself that we will work together to better each other but sometimes I feel as if I'm just lying to myself. I could say loads of bad things about him, not that he's a bad person really, but lazy, unethical at times, unmotivated, moocher. ugh, it's hard because I can kinda see where he's coming from. I do love him but I really want us to grow, to better ourselves and to work hard on being happy and not just blame the world for all of our downfalls. We have a lot of things in common but sometimes I question his motives, his purity, etc...but that could just be the crazy coming out in me...
I just want so much for us to hold each other up and help each other rise to the goodness that we both have within us. I want to work for our dreams not just sit and complain and mooch. I want to motivate each other to make the right choices the healthy choices and the best choices for us and our family...

Anyways, when I reconnected with my husband (hadn't seen him in six years or so) he fell for me immediately, and me having co dependency issues took him under my wing. At the time though I didn't realize that there was anything wrong. He seemed happier and more outgoing than I remembered. Then I started seeing him take his "meds" every day. I didn't really know what they were and up until then I had only tried opiates once, when they were prescribed and a 5mg hydrocodone made me ill. I found out they were 40mg methadone wafers and he was taking a few of them daily. I was warned by a good trusted friend of mine who had done missionary work with addicts that methadone/opiate addicts are of a different nature than other addcits. I didn't understand what he meant then..I sure do now. Now that I too am an addict. One day while my hubby (then just boyfriend) was at work I got into his med stash and broke the wafer into four pieces and took one piece (ten mgs of methadone). I waiting twenty minutes and then took another piece (now total 20mg methadone) twenty minutes later I still wasn't feeling anything so I took a third piece (totalling 30mg of methadone). I started to look up online what methadone was and came across the info that that 40mg of methadone can kill a non tolerant adult. Oh shit...was I in trouble. It wasn't long after that that I became violently ill, and continued to be so for the next day or two. I am lucky that I survived that. It was probably another year before I tried an opiate again. Not long after that my hubby ran outta his meds one day and became very dope sick. VERY dope sick. He decided then that he was going to kick is 120mg or more methadone a day habit cold turkey so I helped him. It was very hard, and a very very long proccess but he did do it. Although he still occasionally uses, which has lead me to occasionally use.
For me it started with just 5mg of methadone, which could get me high as a kite, and it stayed that way for at least a year. Then I had to bump it up to 10 mgs of methadone. I use to be very responsible with it, only after work or only on day that I didn't work. But then I started taking it before work, then for days in a row. But I still kept withdrawls at bay for the most part. Never more than three days in a row.

Then I moved to a different state, one where quack doctors were everywhere. And I had surgery and was perscribed pain meds. That coupled with my addictive personality and BAM! Addiction here I am. I can now take up to 40mg methadone at once and be a perfectly functioning person throughout the day. Actually I am a better functioning person than if I am not high, at least that's what I tell myself. I am lucky though that I'm not at the point of everyday needle in my arm addiction. Right now I'm going through PAWS. I just nixed the last of my three-four month run on opiates...The physcial part of my latest detox is just about over. But the wanting is there very much. It eats away at my soul. I love opiates. I wish I could do them every day for the rest of my life. But I know that sooner or later the wonderful effects wear off and all you're left with is a massive tolerance, dependence and the shitty side effects, like irritation or constipation. But to be honest? I wish I had never fell in love with lady O. It's not only an addiction to opiates, I'm an addict in general. A functional one at that and it's not every day that I'm intoxicated but there is something about normal conscious experience that eats away at me and I feel the burning desire to alter said state of consciuosness. Either that or I want to nap all day.

I'm antsy. I can't stay in one town for very long. I want to get up and move and do something and some days I just want to die...

I am just trying to think of the things I am thankful for. I sit and wonder why I can say I am happy without you because I am happy being here with my daughters. So which am I am? When being tore is this unfixable it becomes like a numbness. I taste the blood from my blade and lick my wounds in the hopes they will dissappear but all I have lost is time. I am in a battle of whitts with myself. When will I ever learn that is an unfair playing field or do I need the pain of defeat to feel at all? Do I self destruct to punish myself for my faults and wrongs or do I need them to feel alive. I am so tired that I am not able to rest. It is a numbing that I can't seem to fix. I have to feel alive again. So I am slowly trying to piece together all my wrongs and rights. Trying to see what all went wrong, all I could have changed. Although I know the truth, we were so out of control, and no matter how many times I say it wasn't my fault I will never really believe that. You are still dead and I remain. It makes fault so stupid because the facts remain. In this it makes no sense to try to fix it but I can not stop trying. It seems so simple to let go, but then it will be what I already know in my heart. Finalized....without my say in any of it. I feel defeated, and I dream of you, it is so horrible to wake to find you were only in my mind. No matter how long your gone you are still in my heart because I swore long ago that I will hold onto our yesterday. Just in the hopes I don't have to really let you die. I can't be without this fight because if i let it go, I will be letting you go and I am still not ready too.

111111

Making Fire

The SAS Survival Guide (Collin's Gem series, written by an x-military type) describes several low tech methods for starting a fire: bow and spindle, hand drill, stick and trough. The author also mentions more modern tools such as a magnifying glass, flint and steel, magnesium stick and steel, matches, lighter, etc. The modern methods are easy, of course.

I am interested in the primitive methods. I have practiced the bow and spindle method and can get a blaze going. But this method was deceptively hard -- what I was missing were the details on how to set up the materials properly -- everything from having a straight spindle with a good rounded point that will spin fast adn , to making the bow correctly. And then getting the tinder going, even getting the ember to fall into it is another challenge that requires skill. Now I am trying another method that is proving to be impossible. That is the hand drill method.

The hand drill method:

"Cut a V-shaped notch in hardwood baseboard. Make a small depression. Use stem of hollow softwood with soft pith core for spindle. Roll the spindle between palms of your hands, running hands down it as you go to press it into depression... Apply steady downward force...." The book recommends using a spindle with a diameter of about 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch.

So I took a stalk of dry mullein, and I cut it into a spindle. Then I broke off a piece of dead wood from an apple tree. I have been using this as a baseboard. I practiced with no results for several hours the other day, then the next day, and the next.

Now my hands are blistered, scabby (I bled from rubbing them raw), and bruised to the bone from all of that spinning. Today, finally, I got smoke and an ember but no fire. I shall try again after my hands heal.

Anyway, this stuff wouldn't be so difficult if somebody knowledgeable were around to demonstrate it. But oh well. That is the story of my life. With a drunkard for a father and a wire monkey for a mother, I have been pretty much on my own and have had to figure out things for myself (usually the hard way) since the day I was born. That's not a big exaggeration.

My girlfriend has been down in California for the last couple of weeks. Before she left, she shaved my head for me. I have trouble doing this myself and end up with uneven razor tracks, cuts, and tufts of hair whenever I try it. Now I need to figure out how to do it... It's growing out, and I like to have it shaved every 2 weeks or so.

I haven't seen or spoken with anyone for several days, and except for posting in Bluelight Blogs, I haven't interacted with anyone. Isolation is what I prefer. I don't like being crowded. (2 is company, 3's a crowd). I don't even get a phone signal from the ranch, but if I hike up the first ridge, I can make calls although the signal is weak. So I turn inward. I spend more and more time thinking about my dreams. Although I sleep only 4 or 5 hours a night, I have had a lot of vivid dreams the last few weeks.

Not only are they extremely vivid, but they have been unusual in several other ways. First, they all focus very narrowly on a specific word or words, images, symbols, or songs. Then there is another element -- the compelling feeling that I must remember and record whatever word or image that was conveyed in the dream. Also, there is often a feeling of being plugged into a kind of network that is often represented by a an image of a net of starlight. And then there as been a Synchronistic element.

Many lately have contained information that was new (at least I have no conscious memory of them) to me but at the same time, corresponded to things (songs, foreign words, names, and geographical locations) that exist in the waking world. Several nights ago for example, I dreamt of a song called "Cucurrucucu Paloma." It was not something that I have ever heard or have reason to believe that I have ever been exposed to. It is in a language I don't speak (Spanish). But I googled it and was surprised to find that there is a song that bears that name. It is a Mexican Huapango song written by a singer I don't know, Tomas Mendez, in the 1950s.


I found a youtube link and even an english translation. The theme accurately described the dream scenario and even how I felt during the dream sequence.... Also, the melody is what I remember from the dream.

I suppose if you have enough dreams, eventually by chance they will hit on something, but this series have the sense beforehand that they represent (a figure in the dream saying that they do) something and many of them have. Also, I am left wondering why they do.


Again, I think dreams are mostly mental noise that isn't worth remembering, but given the encouraging results with that example and others that I have been getting over the last couple of weeks, I will share the salient points of several dreams I had last night.


First dream: Qua-yim -- Dream of Strength

A mountain lion stood outside the cabin and looked through the bedroom window. He watched me as I slept. He spoke one word: "Qayeem."

I don't know how to spell/transliterate, but it sounds Arabic. He seemed to be trying to get across the sense that it was important that I should not forget. I awoke. Moonlight streamed in. I wrote it down, and went back to sleep.

To me, the lion represents strength. I also had the impression of bursts of wind and something to do with the breath.


Second dream: Xymosa -- Dream of the Dead

I stood in a city. I think it might have been the city of "Dis" from Dante. The river Acheron flowed through the heart of it, dividing the city between the side of the Living and that of the Dead. I stood on the bank and tried to peer through the mist that obscured the opposite shore. I was curious what it is like in the Land of the Dead.

I decided to explore (I had thoughtfully brought an inflatable raft that I had hidden away in my backpack and avoided the boatman who controlled the river crossing). Thus I paddled across and entered the Necropolis. Tombs from ancient ancient civilizations of many eras were all around. Beyond them, the Meadows of Asphodel stretched to the horizon.

As I wandered among the tombs, I noticed two dark figures approaching. One was a ghoul who was systematically (and quickly) digging up the corpses from their graves and devouring their organs. His companion was a skeletal crow. Patches of feathers clung to his bones which oddly seemed to be made of black metal. He croaked one word at me as he chased me out of the Land of the Dead and back across the river: Xymosa.


Third dream: Zalim - Dream of Cruelty

Later during the night while in a dream, I became conscious that I was dreaming. The dream was about dragons doing horrible things to people. In that moment, I had the distinct but rapidly vanishing memory that in the earlier (non-lucid) part of the dream, I had been told or shown something significant. I could not remember what it was, only it seemed that I had been shown something that I needed to know and that whose knowledge (that the knowledge of which) would affect my life. I distinctly remembered one word: Zalim.


"Zalim za ..?????"

And ".. Noversky"

This last one was associated with a specific street address and a name of a city and a country. Who is Noversky? I will look them up an Google Streetview when I get a chance.


Fourth dream: Hano - Dream of an Island

I skied down a steep slope of fresh snow. I weaved in and out of a line of trees on the edge of an orchard that grew on part of the slope. At the bottom of the hill was a family estate. A man had returned from a trip. He said he had been on business at an island called "Hano Island."

Again, I have never heard of it. Does it exist?

Fifth Dream -- Bone Juice

I was riding a city bus. A teenage girl was being loud and annoying as she gossiped about boys with a girl friend on her cell phone. She giggled when she spoke the word "Bonejuice" into the phone.

I thought about the meaning of the word "bone juice" for a moment after I woke up. It is English, but it's a reference I have never heard. I have no idea.


Sadly, the solar is dying. The days are short and the sun is not strong enough to fully charge the batteries if I keep running my computer for more than a half hour. There is no juice to power this computer and stay online to google this stuff. I type it into Notepad from a notebook as fast as I can, go online, wait for the page to load (painfully slow), copy and paste into my blog, correct spelling errors, then disconnect the internet again to save power. The power inverter is beeping its low power warning at me. In a few moments, it will shut off and kill my laptop. My laptop is 10 years old and does not have a working battery.

I might get the generator going. There is a Titan 2000 diesel generator in the barn. In the spirit of being off the grid and wanting to have as little as possible to do with the "Oil-based Consumer Economy" that is proving to be unsustainable and so destructive, I would like to modify the generator to burn biodiesel or grease or something.

My friend Grace. My gorgeous, hilarious, carpet combing, Manchester talking friend Grace. I miss her. At first it did not seem real, as if she'd just gone on another of her holidays or vanised on another of her crazy drug binges.... but no. Grace. Silly bloody Grace... forgot the fucking green cross code.

My friend Grace is lying in a hospital bed, in more of a state than she's ever been in before. I should have been there, I should have stopped it, but no. That car... went right fucking over her.

I wasn't even there but I feel so angry, so powerless. Why could that not be stopped? And her family is praying for her, blind to the fact that it was their fucking 'God' who, despite his supposed omnibenevolence, let this happen to their daughter, Perri's lush girlfriend, Alan's weird philosophy student, my brilliant friend Grace.

Sometimes being a realist is hard work. It means no prayer, no superstition, no way of altering the truth. Just waiting. Waiting for her to be ok.

Come on Grace.
Please.

(Mods, if you feel any of this is incriminating to me, please tell me and I will delete it. I try to keep things as vague as possible and feel like I do a decent job of it but sometimes I can over-share.)

So, wow -- I found out what happened to my disappearing buddy that I wrote about in the my post. Let's just say it wasn't good. Legally. Not for him personally, but for the little community there is. It's coming to an election year so it isn't surprising they want to sweep up the dirt in their city, but let's just say his circle got a whole lot smaller for a few years. I'm somewhat worried for my own legal safety as there are phone records to think about but I've kept my nose as clean as possible (pun intended) with this stuff. When I do business with someone new, I will grab a small amount of whatever. See how it works out, get a feel for the person and how they operate. Then, if things seem cool, I will try and go for more and probably end up getting closer to the person. It happens mostly naturally. A little forced at first sometimes, but I don't mind making friends with them. I see them a lot and both of our safety is on the line. I'm not very good at this type of stuff anyway so it doesn't really happen too often that I find a new connect. BUT -- I don't want to put my girlfriend or brother's lives in jeopardy (as in, legal jeopardy. I'm not robbing people or anything). I also like to keep my dignity intact. Haven't sucked cock for a hit of anything. Praying it never comes to that point. But financially, it's been wrecking me.

But I am not ready to stop. Really, truly, I am not. It's so sketchy and hot in the area with police activity, as this is a gentrifying community so they want to clean up their undesirables to hike up rents and attract people who commute to Manhattan as it's an area just outside the city with an easy commute. It's also a decent area to live and raise kids and the whole nine yards.

So, even knowing this, last night I decided to grab 2 pills from my buddy who is possibly wanted and being watched on what was one of my most paranoid runs yet. Lent the guy 20 bucks even. I needed the pills. After housing court and after being at social services all day, I was fucking craving it. I would normally not even bother with 2 pills and just deal with the sickness. My guy isn't motivated by the money, he's motivated by the drugs. So if he can't keep things moving around, he can't get high. Also, his girlfriend is probably just using him for a free high. I'm not positive, but there's quite a disparity in age and appearances. She seems like a genuine girl, but I can see a budding addict. Could have been me from 4 years ago.

Housing court went pretty good. I mean, as good as housing court can really go. I went to social services but didn't qualify for anything, aside from food stamps. I am not proud of having to use these services but alas, there I was, with my hat upturned. I spent about 6 hours of my day sitting and waiting with the huddled masses on the dole. Occupy Wall Street? Occupy the welfare office. They had to add a separate location for people to go to in order to apply for food stamps. I heard that the line to just get into the building was around the block. Luckily yesterday was a fairly nice day for all those people to wait outside like that for hours.

There was an older Jamaican lady I was sitting next to for about an hour. Her spirits were pretty good as she told me her story, which was depressing as all hell. She's getting evicted on 11/25 -- the day after "Thanksgiving"... She said something like, "How can I cook for my family and be thankful when the next day I am going to be homeless?" I know this woman has her life and her strong spirits but it's really a damn shame. I've never seen so much designer clothing, shoes and state of the art cell phones. Toddlers dressed in Nike Jordan sneakers and Babyphat and Rocawear. I understand the mentality of people who live in the fucking ghetto -- I am one of them. I've always went to schools in Manhattan, on the upper east side, with the spoiled kids who's parents paid rents of $4,000 a month. Could you imagine?! In 1996/7 dollars.

My parents didn't even make $4,000 dollars a month combined. Probably half of that, in total. And I am being generous... take home pay, after taxes and 401k investments and insurance was probably much less than $2000 per month. In Middle School, I was one of the "poorest" kids there. My best friend was one of the other poor kids, that I came into the school with from my elementary school.

I remember in 7th grade, around Christmas time, my little group of friends were going to exchange Christmas gifts. Somehow, I convinced my mother to get all of my friends a CD. This was when CDs were like $15-$20 dollars each. Multiply that by 10, you're talking $150-$200 dollars just so I could save face in front of my peers. Some of the more well-off kids whom I gave CDs to for that Christmas exchange didn't even get me anything in return. I was very hurt at the time but I realized money couldn't buy friendship and even if it could, I didn't have enough anyway. Plus, everyone's parents' financial situation was different. But judging from where they lived, they couldn't have been too bad off...

How did I get into these schools that are so monopolized by well-off New Yorkers? Well, from my elementary school in the Bronx, my 5th grade teacher recommended myself and 4 of my friends to go to a specialized Middle School for gifted kids. We all ended up getting into the school -- a white Jewish girl, a black girl, a Korean boy who's 2nd generation American and a Dominican boy who is 2nd generation American as well. I guess they wanted to increase the diversity or some other bullshit initiative to save more face. Now, years later, one is a Yale Graduate, one is a GWU graduate, another graduated a really good public University and I am still in the neighborhood we all came from and wanted to leave all those years ago, as 11 year old kids commuting to school on the subway together for 2 hours a day in order to realize those dreams of better lives. It all sounds so easy but was so complicated for me. The first time someone asked me if I was depressed was a teacher in my 7th grade class... My smart ass remark was "I don't believe in depression" ... But I suppose I was depressed. Maybe even suicidal. My parents never addressed it because they were working class folks who just bucked up and dealt with shit. They didn't pay someone to listen to them cry about their problems. I feel like I've inherited quite a bit of that hardened personality. That's not to say I wouldn't cry myself to sleep most nights and not be able to get out of bed most mornings. Because that was me, too. It's been "me" for many years. I just felt like it was my personality clashing with that of the other kids. I certainly didn't fit in with them. Stereotypical "gifted" kids; lots of them Jewish like me, but no way was I allowed in that clique. The others were the "smart Asian" types. Then there were some kids with pigment ranging from Puerto Rican to black. But not many. It was a very insular little community to which I didn't belong and therefore didn't want to be in.

The actual schoolwork bored me, as usual, and I ended up missing half of 8th grade, thus being "left back" for the first time, ever. I was mortified and felt like I disappointed my parents because I was going to go to a great school and become a Doctor or a Lawyer and fucked it all up by getting left back. (How could my brother become a Doctor or Lawyer? He is, for all intents and purposes, mentally retarded. It still hurts to type it, much less say it, but sometimes I wish he was "normal" and could help me on the same level as I've seen other siblings. Or perhaps, through the tragedies of my father's illness and my mother's death, if my brother was "normal" [like me??? HA!] and could take care of himself, we would have drifted apart a long time ago and who knows where we would be.

I am the Queen of fucking tangents, but this makes me want to talk about my dad's sister a little bit. I won't call her my aunt, because she is nothing to me. But my dad always told me never to treat my brother the way my dad's sister treated my dad and now I see why. She is a stone cold, heartless woman with no amount of care for anyone but herself. She even told me numerous times that "if only [my] brother wasn't around, I'd take you in to live with me" ... Like, what? Really, who says these things? Where exactly would my brother be then? We are only 3 years apart and he's taller than me but I'd kill for that kid.

Another part of me is just like -- get the fuck over it. You never were going to amount to anything anyway so why not just accept being the poor white trash you really are? That's usually the voice that wins out...

delete ffsfasfasf

It's been a while since Ann Coulter has posted some new stuff on Fox News, but tonight I was watching Hannity and low and behold, Ann Coulter appeared on screen. She is looking so hot now. I've always liked her,a long with O'Reilly. The only one on Fox I don't like is Sean Hannity, because he represents the totally serious guy of below-average intelligence who you think is a joke until you find out he's managing important decisions - then it's not so funny.

I really think Fox News is terrible, of course, but I won't deny that I watch it every day. People don't realize how important it is to watch Fox News. It's just as necessary as MSNBC and CNN because it gives you a pH test for society while you're right in your living room. Fox News exists because they represent a large segment of America. They are telling the truth, even when they lie.

That being said, I am a non-cynical fan of Bill O'Reilly. I have always liked him, and not in the way I "like" Ann Coulter. I like the way he expresses his opinions.

A Palmdale, Calif. woman apparently convinced a 12-year-old girl into taking jewelry from her own family. The woman has been arrested by the Los Angeles County Police department. The woman told the kid that she was cursed, and that the curse could only be removed by delivering the jewels. Article source: So-called psychic arrested for allegedly tricking child into stealing jewelry.

Reason behind arrest


Due to suspicion of extortion, Jackeline Lopez was imprisoned last month, according to the Sheriff’s Office. Detectives decided to try to get some help by finding victims and suspects. This was when the Thurs announcement was made.

The garage Lopez has served as a great place for “psychic readings.” That is where she did them. The space was decorated with human skull replicas, candles, black cauldrons and other items.

Girl told she was cursed


The unidentified girl claims Lopez told her that she was suffering from a curse and that "horrible things" would start taking place to her if she didn't have the curse removed. The curse can only be removed by paying Lopez, she said. She told the girl she had to pay in jewelry.

The Sheriff's Department statement said:

"Over a period of a month following the reading, suspect Lopez encouraged the victim to bring her jewelry from the victim’s home to be used in removing the curse from the victim and their family. Routinely Lopez would orchestrate a ritual in which the victim would place the stolen jewelry in the caldron and attempt to remove the curse. Each time, however, Lopez would tell the victim that what they had brought was not enough to remove the horrible curse and she needed more. This continued until the victim’s parents noticed the missing jewelry and confronted the victim on its whereabouts."



Girl regarded as victim


The girl does not have to deal with charges. Authorities explained punitive action is also not going to take place. She was terrified into committing the act and so is considered a victim in the matter.

Articles cited


Los Angeles Times: http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lan...feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed: lanowblog (L.A. Now)&utm_content=Google Feedfetcher

Huffington Post: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/07/jackeline-lopez-self-proc_n_1000033.html?ir=Crime

LA Late: http://news.lalate.com/2011/10/07/jackeline-lopez-psychic-used-jewelry-caldron-to-remove-curse-cops/