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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:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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...
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.
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.
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
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...
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...
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.
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/
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/
Get me out of this place, I've had some great times living in a dual diagnosis facility for mental health and addiction, pretty tolerant here, just breathalised and supervised piss test twice a week, only had one slip with drink and one slip with a binge on drink, heroin, diaz and cannabis. Got a flat sorted out and i move in two days, so much looking forward to laying in my bed with a big fat spliff and shooting some smack, generally going off the rails for a few day!
I've learnt a lot been here, mainly, if you want a stable life you gotta work at it, I've had some grim time but some great laughs and good times overall. been a great chapter to my life.
But im sure fire no turning back, i've got my mind set on using and theres nothing going to stop me, i'm gonna push the barrell pay the price, it gonna be nice. No doubt I'll wake up in a hole of grim headspace but its nothing fucking new to me. Im just so fucking ansty about getting out of here its unreal.
TaylorC the addict is back for more!
I've learnt a lot been here, mainly, if you want a stable life you gotta work at it, I've had some grim time but some great laughs and good times overall. been a great chapter to my life.
But im sure fire no turning back, i've got my mind set on using and theres nothing going to stop me, i'm gonna push the barrell pay the price, it gonna be nice. No doubt I'll wake up in a hole of grim headspace but its nothing fucking new to me. Im just so fucking ansty about getting out of here its unreal.
TaylorC the addict is back for more!
i feel lost i wanna move out of this sober house i just dont want to deal with this crap anymore i feel trapped and i just want to get fucked up anyway i dont know what to do if i leave my dad might cut me off but i think i could support myself and things might be worse if i left vs getting kicked out
am i anything more than a junkie
btw i appreciate comments
is there any magical answer
i felt kinda depressed today i havent left the house
i feel like i have this whole amazing city at my fingertips and i dont know what to do with it
am i anything more than a junkie
btw i appreciate comments
is there any magical answer
i felt kinda depressed today i havent left the house
i feel like i have this whole amazing city at my fingertips and i dont know what to do with it
Note to self: Chemical happiness is not real. When the chemicals are gone, life sucks again. Maybe one day I will figure that out for real.
But here's the story anyway. Whining ahoy:
Ran out of oxycodone last night; called a dude for some oxymorphone yesterday. Normal oxycodone dude is gone for the holidays (fucking Thanksgiving...) so the oxymorphone dude doesn't wanna give shit up for a good price. Eventually though everything seemed to be smooth as usual. BUT! The guy I actually see and deal with disappears. He's a Chatty Cathy (text messaging BS stupidity) all day and then radio silence for the last 12 hours, right before we're supposed to meet up...! Gah. Just fucking tell me 'no' so I can stop being a psychotic bitch and watching my Blackberry like it's going to turn into a fucking pony or give birth or fucking ring or something.
When he doesn't answer the phone it usually means either some bad shit went down and the police may have been involved (hoping this isn't the issue...) or got killed or overdosed or else he just got ridiculously high and stayed wherever he happened to be at, ignoring his phone. Can't fault the guy though, because from the glimpse I see of what he goes through, his life must be a pain in the ass. The free pills must be great though... (Even though the dude disappearing is another "as usual" ... I really thought he was gonna come through tonight. I'm just bitching because he usually does come through -- middle-manning it though -- so I shouldn't complain. But it's my fucking blog and he doesn't read it so I will complain.)
I obviously just want to be high right now. Nodding. Opiated bliss. I would have showered and washed my hair and done my laundry! Instead I am cold and smelly with nasty hair, no clean clothing, angry, depressed and anxious. Well, in about 8 hours now, I have to go to Housing Court.
It's probably best I'm not high, though. Since I have to go to Housing Court in the morning to deal with my stupidity. I assume it's best not to be nodding off in front of a Housing Court judge while telling them you're broke because you're a college student and can't find work at the moment but really all you want to do is spend money on pills and pot. (I mean, I truly am poor and can't find work for real... but this doesn't help. My rental arrears is going to be taken care of by the other half of my girlfriend's student loan because I am a selfish bitch and she is not.)
In the mean time, I took some suboxone, just enough to not want to jump out of my sixth floor window. Smoked a little pot. Took my rx'd Klonopin... my tolerance to oxycodone was only around 60mgs at that moment so it's pretty cake walk when it comes to physical shit but the mental shit is there hardcore. It never leaves, really. But I am sure a lot of you know that.
November is not a good month for me. Thanksgiving is not a good holiday for me. This week I have off of school isn't going to be a good week for me, unless this dude contacts me tomorrow. I guess we'll see what happens tomorrow. I shouldn't have let it get like this. I feel like such a fool for having to go through this eviction shit. I need a job. I apply to places and don't hear back or else I get an interview and it doesn't go well or if I do get an interview I don't go to it because I have a tendency to be nihilistic about shit.
Maybe I am just a fucking stupid loser "hillbilly heroin" addict, though. That could be it. I want to try some regular old heroin, though. I am positive it would be the worst mistake I ever make, but whatever. How much worse can my life really get? (Don't answer that...)
I thought I had it all figured out. I feel like there is this chain twisted and twirled around my brain, locked with a padlock that has neither key nor combination. I started drinking alcohol and smoking pot when I was 17. Cocaine, LSD and benzos came not long after. That's 8 years of near constant alcohol and drug abuse under my belt. Boy, I'm just so proud of that. Mother drank herself to death, father gambled away all his money and got Parkinson's Disease, sitting in a nursing home losing his mind more and more each and every day...)
I guess I just wanted an escape. Home life sucked. School life sucked. I only had a few friends. One in particular pretty much introduced me to drugs. Before that I was a binge-eating bulimic... So we can see a pattern here of addictive, self-destructive behaviors.
The opiates started when my friend had some dental surgery. She had Vicodin, which she had a problem with in the past. The Vicodin were probably 5-10/500s. Lame shit. (My goal was to complete the Queens of the Stone Age song, "Feel Good Hit of the Summer". It goes... "Nicotine, Valium, Vicodin, Marijuana, Ecstasy and Alcohol... C-c-c-cocaine!"
By 17 I only needed Vicodin and Ecstasy to complete the song. Why did I want to do this? Who the fuck knows. I also tried LSD, salvia, DXM, Xanax, Klonopin and more shit I'm probably forgetting at that point.
My friend offers me the Vicodin and I looked at it so casually. Who knew it would change my life so much? I took those giant horse pills (with orange juice because the taste of Tylenol makes me want to vomit) and waited. It was so nonchalant. I think she gave/sold me 10 of them. I had 50-100mgs of hydrocodone in total. That wouldn't even tickle me now. But I got fucking wasted then! Off of 10mgs of some medicine my friend got from the dentist. WTF, dental surgery, sign me up! RIGHT?
It was like I finally felt comfortable in my own skin. HAPPY. Euphoric! Elated! Granted, I was a little itchy and a little nauseous but I would grow to love the itching and a granola bar & coconut water take care of the nausea for me now. If only I could feel like this ALL THE TIME! I had my first nod on the playground equipment of my elementary school with my 2 friends I pretty much grew up with (one of whom I introduced to alcohol and the other who gave/sold really cheaply the Vicodin to me ... funny how that works.)
Another time, still on the Vicodin, my friend was visiting California. She asked me to go with her to the airport so I did, as long as she shared the Vicodin... I had about 30mgs and she had probably 15... we were both pretty smacked from it. She ended up puking all over the airport which was so paranoia-inducing to me when I am not high on opiates (it was J.F. motherfucking K.! I think there's still the National Guard there... I don't know, I haven't flown since 2008) But I puked just once... ha! I did have to take the subway back by myself from fucking Queens to... well, the opposite of Queens!
...
I knew it was trouble. But it's the best thing I've ever felt. Perhaps knowing what it feels like to truly want to be sober will feel even better...
But here's the story anyway. Whining ahoy:
Ran out of oxycodone last night; called a dude for some oxymorphone yesterday. Normal oxycodone dude is gone for the holidays (fucking Thanksgiving...) so the oxymorphone dude doesn't wanna give shit up for a good price. Eventually though everything seemed to be smooth as usual. BUT! The guy I actually see and deal with disappears. He's a Chatty Cathy (text messaging BS stupidity) all day and then radio silence for the last 12 hours, right before we're supposed to meet up...! Gah. Just fucking tell me 'no' so I can stop being a psychotic bitch and watching my Blackberry like it's going to turn into a fucking pony or give birth or fucking ring or something.
When he doesn't answer the phone it usually means either some bad shit went down and the police may have been involved (hoping this isn't the issue...) or got killed or overdosed or else he just got ridiculously high and stayed wherever he happened to be at, ignoring his phone. Can't fault the guy though, because from the glimpse I see of what he goes through, his life must be a pain in the ass. The free pills must be great though... (Even though the dude disappearing is another "as usual" ... I really thought he was gonna come through tonight.
I'm just bitching because he usually does come through -- middle-manning it though -- so I shouldn't complain. But it's my fucking blog and he doesn't read it so I will complain.) I obviously just want to be high right now. Nodding. Opiated bliss. I would have showered and washed my hair and done my laundry! Instead I am cold and smelly with nasty hair, no clean clothing, angry, depressed and anxious. Well, in about 8 hours now, I have to go to Housing Court.
It's probably best I'm not high, though. Since I have to go to Housing Court in the morning to deal with my stupidity. I assume it's best not to be nodding off in front of a Housing Court judge while telling them you're broke because you're a college student and can't find work at the moment but really all you want to do is spend money on pills and pot. (I mean, I truly am poor and can't find work for real... but this doesn't help. My rental arrears is going to be taken care of by the other half of my girlfriend's student loan because I am a selfish bitch and she is not.)
In the mean time, I took some suboxone, just enough to not want to jump out of my sixth floor window. Smoked a little pot. Took my rx'd Klonopin... my tolerance to oxycodone was only around 60mgs at that moment so it's pretty cake walk when it comes to physical shit but the mental shit is there hardcore. It never leaves, really. But I am sure a lot of you know that.
November is not a good month for me. Thanksgiving is not a good holiday for me. This week I have off of school isn't going to be a good week for me, unless this dude contacts me tomorrow. I guess we'll see what happens tomorrow. I shouldn't have let it get like this. I feel like such a fool for having to go through this eviction shit. I need a job. I apply to places and don't hear back or else I get an interview and it doesn't go well or if I do get an interview I don't go to it because I have a tendency to be nihilistic about shit.
Maybe I am just a fucking stupid loser "hillbilly heroin" addict, though. That could be it. I want to try some regular old heroin, though. I am positive it would be the worst mistake I ever make, but whatever. How much worse can my life really get? (Don't answer that...)
I thought I had it all figured out. I feel like there is this chain twisted and twirled around my brain, locked with a padlock that has neither key nor combination. I started drinking alcohol and smoking pot when I was 17. Cocaine, LSD and benzos came not long after. That's 8 years of near constant alcohol and drug abuse under my belt. Boy, I'm just so proud of that. Mother drank herself to death, father gambled away all his money and got Parkinson's Disease, sitting in a nursing home losing his mind more and more each and every day...)
I guess I just wanted an escape. Home life sucked. School life sucked. I only had a few friends. One in particular pretty much introduced me to drugs. Before that I was a binge-eating bulimic... So we can see a pattern here of addictive, self-destructive behaviors.
The opiates started when my friend had some dental surgery. She had Vicodin, which she had a problem with in the past. The Vicodin were probably 5-10/500s. Lame shit. (My goal was to complete the Queens of the Stone Age song, "Feel Good Hit of the Summer". It goes... "Nicotine, Valium, Vicodin, Marijuana, Ecstasy and Alcohol... C-c-c-cocaine!"
By 17 I only needed Vicodin and Ecstasy to complete the song. Why did I want to do this? Who the fuck knows. I also tried LSD, salvia, DXM, Xanax, Klonopin and more shit I'm probably forgetting at that point.
My friend offers me the Vicodin and I looked at it so casually. Who knew it would change my life so much? I took those giant horse pills (with orange juice because the taste of Tylenol makes me want to vomit) and waited. It was so nonchalant. I think she gave/sold me 10 of them. I had 50-100mgs of hydrocodone in total. That wouldn't even tickle me now. But I got fucking wasted then! Off of 10mgs of some medicine my friend got from the dentist. WTF, dental surgery, sign me up! RIGHT?
It was like I finally felt comfortable in my own skin. HAPPY. Euphoric! Elated! Granted, I was a little itchy and a little nauseous but I would grow to love the itching and a granola bar & coconut water take care of the nausea for me now. If only I could feel like this ALL THE TIME! I had my first nod on the playground equipment of my elementary school with my 2 friends I pretty much grew up with (one of whom I introduced to alcohol and the other who gave/sold really cheaply the Vicodin to me ... funny how that works.)
Another time, still on the Vicodin, my friend was visiting California. She asked me to go with her to the airport so I did, as long as she shared the Vicodin... I had about 30mgs and she had probably 15... we were both pretty smacked from it. She ended up puking all over the airport which was so paranoia-inducing to me when I am not high on opiates (it was J.F. motherfucking K.! I think there's still the National Guard there... I don't know, I haven't flown since 2008) But I puked just once... ha! I did have to take the subway back by myself from fucking Queens to... well, the opposite of Queens!
...
I knew it was trouble. But it's the best thing I've ever felt. Perhaps knowing what it feels like to truly want to be sober will feel even better...
Ellen Hopkins is, hands down, my favorite author of all time. Her novels are written in a flowing, completely unique style of poetry and informal colloquies, designed in a way to make the reader think. Don't let the poetry part fool you though - her books are far from boring. If you didn't know any better, you wouldn't even notice it was poetry. Most of her books, with a few exceptions, revolve around more than one character with different (albeit similar) stories. All are written in the first person, switching back and forth between characters in the books that have more than one protagonist... but not in a way that's confusing.
She is also arguably the most controversial author out there. Despite the fact that she is technically a YA author (she just came out with her first "adult" novel however), every single one of her books touches on a specific real-life issue - sex, drugs, homicide, prostitution, rape, incest, mental disorders, suicide - practically anything you can think of. She has had guest appearances cancelled by school boards at the last minute, her books pulled off of high school shelves completely, and one of her books was straight up banned.
While reading her book titled Perfect, I came across a quote that seriously hit home for me. I love all of the books Ellen Hopkins creates, but Perfect is probably one of my favorites so far, because I can relate to it a lot - especially to this quote. There are five characters who's stories are followed, all of which are on self-destructive quests for... what else? Perfection.
This quote comes from Kendra's character, a teen model who will do anything to get to the top. This includes tons of plastic surgery, sleeping with her agents, starving herself (anorexia), over excercising... and, of course, being in denial that she's anorexic and has a problem, despite the people around her telling her so. Her parents are split up and her father is also abusive. She copes with the pressure of all this by... what else? Popping pills. I'm not anorexic and I don't sleep with people to get to where I need to go in life... but the popping pills part? THAT I can relate to. And that is what this quote is about, which I think we can all relate to through some extent:
Hit the nail on the head. Do we not all use drugs as some sort of form of control? Whether it's self medication or just wanting to have fun... the urge to control the way you feel is still there. Something I, as well as many of you I'm sure, can relate with all too well.
Since this blog is about Ellen Hopkins as an author, I'll try to quickly describe her other books. Broken families are a common theme in all of her books, and are almost always the catalyst for the main issue the book focuses on.
Impulse: A companion to Perfect, though Impulse was written four years before Perfect was released. One of the stories it follows is Conner, who is Cara's brother (Cara is one of the five characters in Perfect), and Kendra's boyfriend. It's about three kids sent to the same mental institution for different reasons. Touches mainly on suicide, various mental disorders, cutting, homosexuality.
Burned: Follows one character, Pattyn, who is from a strong Mormon family. Her father is a highly abusive, misogynistic alcoholic. Because of this, Pattyn eventually rebels against her family and her religion - getting into fights, drinking, having sex - until her parents find out and force her to move to a different state with her aunt in order to "straighten her out". There she learns about self-acceptance, love, and becoming an individual... which is the main theme of the book. Issues it touches on: alcoholism, several types of violence, sex, death, corruption within churches, homicide. A companion novel titled Smoke will be released in 2013. (Can't wait!)
Identical: Follows two characters, who are twins. Their mother is an absentee politician, and their father is... well, a pig who forces on the twins to have sex with him constantly. I'm not going to say more than that, because it would be a huge spoiler - this book, more than her other books, had a twist ending that left me reeling... definitely my favorite one of hers. Main issues it touches on: death, drugs, sex, incest, schizophrenia, rape.
Tricks: Follows four different characters, who are all forced into prostitution in one way or another. The title of the book is Tricks... enough said. Although prostitution is the main issue, the theme of the book seems to be finding a way "out" so to speak. Main issues it touches on: teen prostitution, male/female homosexuality, rape, death, homicide, gambling.
Crank, Glass, and Fallout (the Kristina trilogy): Crank is the first book, and it follows Kristina. She starts off well - good grades, good family - until she visits her dad and is introduced to... what else? Crank. Meth. Speed. Whatever you want to call it. She quickly falls into a self-destructive pattern, is raped and impregnated, and has the baby at the end. Issues it touches on: drugs (duh), sex, rape, petty crime. Glass is Crank's sequel, again following Kristina. After having her baby, she struggles to stay off meth... but decides to take a "pick-me-up" one day to keep up with the exhaustion of motherhood and schoolwork. Of course that leads her back down the destructive path she was on before. At the end of the book, she has become a target of the Mexican mafia, is thrown in prison... and is pregnant again. Issues it touches on: teen motherhood, drugs (duh again), sex, felonious and high crime. Fallout is the final novel. Instead of following Kristina, it follows her children and how her decisions have affected their lives. All live in different states with different families - one with her grandfather, one with Kristina's parents, and one is in foster care. None of them, except for one, know much about Kristina until the end of the book. Each of them has their own issues. Whereas Kristina was a likeable character the reader feels sorry for in the first two books, she quickly becomes the villain in this one. Main issues it touches on: alcoholism, drugs, sex.
That's it for the ones I've read so far. Other books of hers are: Triangles (in the process of reading it since it's brand new, so I can't explain it on here like with the others; it's her first adult novel), Tilt (which will be released in 2013 and a companion to Triangles), Flirtin' with the Monster (a companion of sorts to the Kristina trilogy, except it's a non-fiction book about meth use), Collateral (an individual novel that will be released in 2012), and Smoke (which will be released in 2013 as a companion to Burned.)
Regardless, ALL of her books are good and have touched me in some way... so I figured I'd give Ellen Hopkins a shout out. If you haven't read any of her books, I highly recommend you do! Despite the YA categorization, trust me - they are not for the faint of heart, and anyone can enjoy them as they touch on real world issues that effect people of EVERY age. I guarantee you she's written at least ONE book that you (yes, you!) can relate to. Find out which one it is from my descriptions and then go read it!
No seriously. You won't regret it.
She is also arguably the most controversial author out there. Despite the fact that she is technically a YA author (she just came out with her first "adult" novel however), every single one of her books touches on a specific real-life issue - sex, drugs, homicide, prostitution, rape, incest, mental disorders, suicide - practically anything you can think of. She has had guest appearances cancelled by school boards at the last minute, her books pulled off of high school shelves completely, and one of her books was straight up banned.
While reading her book titled Perfect, I came across a quote that seriously hit home for me. I love all of the books Ellen Hopkins creates, but Perfect is probably one of my favorites so far, because I can relate to it a lot - especially to this quote. There are five characters who's stories are followed, all of which are on self-destructive quests for... what else? Perfection.
This quote comes from Kendra's character, a teen model who will do anything to get to the top. This includes tons of plastic surgery, sleeping with her agents, starving herself (anorexia), over excercising... and, of course, being in denial that she's anorexic and has a problem, despite the people around her telling her so. Her parents are split up and her father is also abusive. She copes with the pressure of all this by... what else? Popping pills. I'm not anorexic and I don't sleep with people to get to where I need to go in life... but the popping pills part? THAT I can relate to. And that is what this quote is about, which I think we can all relate to through some extent:
How far down can this one drop me? Will it plummet me into a no-man's land so dense with pleasure that memory can't follow? How high will this one launch me? Will I soar above this pain-infused planet, no fear, and no desire to ever turn back?
Who knew so many answers might be found inside little amber bottles. Sad? Pop a pill. Fat? Run screaming for the medicine chest. Everything becomes obsolete... and Mommy's Little Helper makes that happen for you.
I always thought pill popping was for losers. People who couldn't hack reality. Couldn't control themselves or conquer their weaknesses.
Ha. I never thought I was weak before. It's all very clear now, though. And I can't believe how easy it is to not feel sorry. To not feel sad or worried or like the whole world just wants to crush me. And all I have to do is match the messed up mood to the proper chemical adjuster. If that makes me weak, oh well.
But I think it makes me smart. Why push uphill when you can coast?
Hit the nail on the head. Do we not all use drugs as some sort of form of control? Whether it's self medication or just wanting to have fun... the urge to control the way you feel is still there. Something I, as well as many of you I'm sure, can relate with all too well.
Since this blog is about Ellen Hopkins as an author, I'll try to quickly describe her other books. Broken families are a common theme in all of her books, and are almost always the catalyst for the main issue the book focuses on.
Impulse: A companion to Perfect, though Impulse was written four years before Perfect was released. One of the stories it follows is Conner, who is Cara's brother (Cara is one of the five characters in Perfect), and Kendra's boyfriend. It's about three kids sent to the same mental institution for different reasons. Touches mainly on suicide, various mental disorders, cutting, homosexuality.
Burned: Follows one character, Pattyn, who is from a strong Mormon family. Her father is a highly abusive, misogynistic alcoholic. Because of this, Pattyn eventually rebels against her family and her religion - getting into fights, drinking, having sex - until her parents find out and force her to move to a different state with her aunt in order to "straighten her out". There she learns about self-acceptance, love, and becoming an individual... which is the main theme of the book. Issues it touches on: alcoholism, several types of violence, sex, death, corruption within churches, homicide. A companion novel titled Smoke will be released in 2013. (Can't wait!)
Identical: Follows two characters, who are twins. Their mother is an absentee politician, and their father is... well, a pig who forces on the twins to have sex with him constantly. I'm not going to say more than that, because it would be a huge spoiler - this book, more than her other books, had a twist ending that left me reeling... definitely my favorite one of hers. Main issues it touches on: death, drugs, sex, incest, schizophrenia, rape.
Tricks: Follows four different characters, who are all forced into prostitution in one way or another. The title of the book is Tricks... enough said. Although prostitution is the main issue, the theme of the book seems to be finding a way "out" so to speak. Main issues it touches on: teen prostitution, male/female homosexuality, rape, death, homicide, gambling.
Crank, Glass, and Fallout (the Kristina trilogy): Crank is the first book, and it follows Kristina. She starts off well - good grades, good family - until she visits her dad and is introduced to... what else? Crank. Meth. Speed. Whatever you want to call it. She quickly falls into a self-destructive pattern, is raped and impregnated, and has the baby at the end. Issues it touches on: drugs (duh), sex, rape, petty crime. Glass is Crank's sequel, again following Kristina. After having her baby, she struggles to stay off meth... but decides to take a "pick-me-up" one day to keep up with the exhaustion of motherhood and schoolwork. Of course that leads her back down the destructive path she was on before. At the end of the book, she has become a target of the Mexican mafia, is thrown in prison... and is pregnant again. Issues it touches on: teen motherhood, drugs (duh again), sex, felonious and high crime. Fallout is the final novel. Instead of following Kristina, it follows her children and how her decisions have affected their lives. All live in different states with different families - one with her grandfather, one with Kristina's parents, and one is in foster care. None of them, except for one, know much about Kristina until the end of the book. Each of them has their own issues. Whereas Kristina was a likeable character the reader feels sorry for in the first two books, she quickly becomes the villain in this one. Main issues it touches on: alcoholism, drugs, sex.
That's it for the ones I've read so far. Other books of hers are: Triangles (in the process of reading it since it's brand new, so I can't explain it on here like with the others; it's her first adult novel), Tilt (which will be released in 2013 and a companion to Triangles), Flirtin' with the Monster (a companion of sorts to the Kristina trilogy, except it's a non-fiction book about meth use), Collateral (an individual novel that will be released in 2012), and Smoke (which will be released in 2013 as a companion to Burned.)
Regardless, ALL of her books are good and have touched me in some way... so I figured I'd give Ellen Hopkins a shout out. If you haven't read any of her books, I highly recommend you do! Despite the YA categorization, trust me - they are not for the faint of heart, and anyone can enjoy them as they touch on real world issues that effect people of EVERY age. I guarantee you she's written at least ONE book that you (yes, you!) can relate to. Find out which one it is from my descriptions and then go read it!
No seriously. You won't regret it.
ok so i got fucked up again and then of course i got caught
my question is how do i make myself want to stop i mean they say you have to want it but i mean i am a iv heroin junkie i could very well be dead before i "want it"
right now i am kinda seperated from the scene which is fine and i am real nervous about whats gonna happen when i get back
a lot of people really want me to do things right but its so frustrating i feel like i am going crazy sometimes
i could go on a run and get my own place and all but i dont know if i have the balls to do that
i would really like to be a normal college student and be able to party like one cuz i do like to go out and have fun i miss it alot
there is a possibility of me going back on suboxone maintenance i dont really know if thats a good thing or not but i know getting off of that was the hardest thing i have ever done
it sucks all the stuff i like is taken away and i am unhappy with myself because i have gained weight with this bullshit
i am looking for something and i am not sure what
my question is how do i make myself want to stop i mean they say you have to want it but i mean i am a iv heroin junkie i could very well be dead before i "want it"
right now i am kinda seperated from the scene which is fine and i am real nervous about whats gonna happen when i get back
a lot of people really want me to do things right but its so frustrating i feel like i am going crazy sometimes
i could go on a run and get my own place and all but i dont know if i have the balls to do that
i would really like to be a normal college student and be able to party like one cuz i do like to go out and have fun i miss it alot
there is a possibility of me going back on suboxone maintenance i dont really know if thats a good thing or not but i know getting off of that was the hardest thing i have ever done
it sucks all the stuff i like is taken away and i am unhappy with myself because i have gained weight with this bullshit
i am looking for something and i am not sure what
I know its been a long ass time since.Ive.been here and I saw your comment saying BL blogs have always had a word limit, to which I said,"Ah, but you havent been to the older BL blogs say from 2006, maybe even 2008? The older blog entries USED to be on here b4
upgrade #8339 haha or however many bleepin upgrades ago its now been, hell I cant keep track. The point being that when I went to get the proof from some random older entries from 2005 and b4--went on and on and on MANY pages, as I found out when I went to complete the long ass task of printing the blogs from 2008 all the way to when they began back in 2003--as BL warned of upcoming upgrade which would NOT allow access to archive entries, and eventually they did,
(BUT alas the wisdom of the BL blog mod god squad dictated that Behold! Let there be yet another BL blog upgrade, for it hath been deemed by the mighty and invisable , for the great all knowing, all powerful saints and righteous of the Bluest of the Blog Mod Squad lords & lordettes hath declared
Let There Be Yet Another Blue Blog Light Upgrade, for We are the Lords & Lordettes and We hath declared that it be so and who so ever sayeth thou shalt upgradeth Naught, shall Blogeth in the Great BL Lake of blue fires, and brimstone!")
Okay, I did it again. First time in 800 years I actually managed to align inspiration, desire and motivation to write-in spite of G-Tab only, no printer, & til now no way to save files. Anyway, duck a fuck, didnt mean for this to be long-point: I saw a thread in TDS asking for feedback,maybe response poetic answers to his questions in poetic form. . ? Maybe . . ? I think . . ? I have no fucking clue. . ? Whatever he did or did not want, guess who replied. . A) Donald Trump B) Donald Duck C) The Mighty Ducks D) TJ E) Dr. Lao Tsi Lay or F) Pluto
So, after reply was written, I didnt post it cause it was too long. I hadnt planned on it turning into a Pillalogue novella. Just like the old days haha. But back in those DAZE of 2003-2005 there was a blissful paid 6 month vacation with my two story townhouse, lots of crystal meth, my own working PC, no obligation to a job, leaving me free and the BL Blogs vulnerable to my many massive methalogues.
So, I put my reply onto a google doc, saved it & gonna attempt to upload that piece of historical dopalogue to my blog instead of subjecting some poor soul to this chemalogue.
Initially I too, adhered to the rhythm and rhyme of poetry, half ass attempt anyway, but then as usual poems are rarely short, especially when I dont want to forget what the hell I wanted to say (as it was somewhat serious)as writing an answer in poetic form requires
ALOT of leisurely pace trying to say what I want to say while making it half way suitable to the rhythm & rhyme scheme. It requires going into my rocket ride of TJ Inner Space then translating the pictures within communicating it by painting a portrait in literary styles/scenic mode. You've heard the saying,"A picture is worth a thousand words," and I cant draw freehand and I cant paint-Im just not that kind of artist. So, I have to take a thousand words and hope I succeed in turning it into a colorful picture.
upgrade #8339 haha or however many bleepin upgrades ago its now been, hell I cant keep track. The point being that when I went to get the proof from some random older entries from 2005 and b4--went on and on and on MANY pages, as I found out when I went to complete the long ass task of printing the blogs from 2008 all the way to when they began back in 2003--as BL warned of upcoming upgrade which would NOT allow access to archive entries, and eventually they did,
(BUT alas the wisdom of the BL blog mod god squad dictated that Behold! Let there be yet another BL blog upgrade, for it hath been deemed by the mighty and invisable , for the great all knowing, all powerful saints and righteous of the Bluest of the Blog Mod Squad lords & lordettes hath declared
Let There Be Yet Another Blue Blog Light Upgrade, for We are the Lords & Lordettes and We hath declared that it be so and who so ever sayeth thou shalt upgradeth Naught, shall Blogeth in the Great BL Lake of blue fires, and brimstone!")
Okay, I did it again. First time in 800 years I actually managed to align inspiration, desire and motivation to write-in spite of G-Tab only, no printer, & til now no way to save files. Anyway, duck a fuck, didnt mean for this to be long-point: I saw a thread in TDS asking for feedback,maybe response poetic answers to his questions in poetic form. . ? Maybe . . ? I think . . ? I have no fucking clue. . ? Whatever he did or did not want, guess who replied. . A) Donald Trump B) Donald Duck C) The Mighty Ducks D) TJ E) Dr. Lao Tsi Lay or F) Pluto
So, after reply was written, I didnt post it cause it was too long. I hadnt planned on it turning into a Pillalogue novella. Just like the old days haha. But back in those DAZE of 2003-2005 there was a blissful paid 6 month vacation with my two story townhouse, lots of crystal meth, my own working PC, no obligation to a job, leaving me free and the BL Blogs vulnerable to my many massive methalogues.
So, I put my reply onto a google doc, saved it & gonna attempt to upload that piece of historical dopalogue to my blog instead of subjecting some poor soul to this chemalogue.
Initially I too, adhered to the rhythm and rhyme of poetry, half ass attempt anyway, but then as usual poems are rarely short, especially when I dont want to forget what the hell I wanted to say (as it was somewhat serious)as writing an answer in poetic form requires
ALOT of leisurely pace trying to say what I want to say while making it half way suitable to the rhythm & rhyme scheme. It requires going into my rocket ride of TJ Inner Space then translating the pictures within communicating it by painting a portrait in literary styles/scenic mode. You've heard the saying,"A picture is worth a thousand words," and I cant draw freehand and I cant paint-Im just not that kind of artist. So, I have to take a thousand words and hope I succeed in turning it into a colorful picture.
But I'm a good dude, in general. Relationships just typically don't 'stick' for me. There's always something. Like this time our schedules conflict so we can only see each other twice a week. I might be using that as the most reasonable excuse to get out because of all the little petty things that irritate me about the girl, like the way her jaw pops every time she yawns or the fact that she hates most foods that are not junk food. Hopefully, we can get this resolved without any bloodshed.
When I first came here in the mid-1980s, a year after meeting Rizza's father in Jerusalem, there was no electricity, no running water, and the only phones were 8 landlines in a government installation in the middle of town. There were only dirt roads and though it still takes us 6 hours to travel to the nearest mall in Davao City, we can do so at any time of the year. In the past, during the Western Monsoon from June to December, you couly go by horse or water buffalo, and in the dry season- winter- the ride to Davao City literally took 18 hours. Progress?
I am, at heart, a Luddite. I disdain most modern comforts and more than that, I am sickened by crass globalist, American- derived fast food culture. I remember when Jose Bove, a French farmer, drove his tractor through a McDonald's plate glass window shortly after it opened in hia quaint French village. He went on to create what has become known as the "Slow Food Movement." A hero as I see it, though I personally abhor the destruction of private property I definitely dig that symbolism.
We have McDonald's here, in the island's three biggest cities (Davao, Cagayam del Oro, and Butuan). Butuan City is the closest, about a 120 km ride down out of the mountains on a cleanl road that even, inexplicably, has 4 lanes in some parts. I say inexplicable because this is an incredibly poor place, one of the poorest in an excruciatingly poor nation. Seeing entire families sleeping on cardboard on the sidewalks of Manila still irks me after all these years.
As a particularly poor region there aren't a lot of vehicles. The primary form of public transportation is a "habal habal" (as in "Hubble," like the telescope) and to a lesser extent, "skylabs" (as in the space station). A habal is simply a motorcycle dirtbike, a 250cc or less, with an extended seat that can, and often does, carry 4 passengers, more if kids are present- and helmets are non-existent. Skylabs are the same thing but with two, full size wooden pallets attached, one on each side off of the seat, as in wings...just like the real Skylab once had. The pallets hold freight and or more people. The most people I have ever seen riding on one was 12 adults and a couple of toddlers. Sometimes only 6 or 7 people and a couple of full sized pigs, etc.
In long distance travel most ride "Jeepneys," WWII surplus Willys Jeeps with the drive shaft extended until it is as long as a small school bus. Plastic or wooden benches are placed along the sides of the interior. A "konduktor" rides hanging off the back and collects the 70 US Cents that people pay, you just knock on the metal to get the driver to stop, as he plys a regular route. There are usually a dozen or so people plus livestock on the roof as well. There are also commercial bus routes for long hauls, but on Mindanao you literally risk being murdered or kidnapped while riding them. The most recent attack on one that I recall was in the municipality of Tungawan, wheb four kids got on after flagging down the bus on the hiway, a common way to catch a bus here.
When the driver began negotiating a series of "s" turns on a mountain road two of them stood up, without a word, one pivoted 180 degrees and nailed one of two paramilitary soldiers, working for the bus company as "marshals." The 45 caliber round literally went right between his eyes. Boy #2 trained his pistol on Marshal #2. Sitting next to the murdered marshal was an Army Major, Julastidi Arasid of the 18IB (Infantry Battalion), with his wife Sitti Ayala Arasid and their 15 year old son. The Major was out of uniform, they were going to their son's graduation, as highschool here ends by age 16.
The Major reached for his service pistol but both him and his wife were nailed as well, ad the second boy shot the other marshal. The Major's 15 year old son dived out of the open window and ran. All passengers were made to exit the bus. Then, leaving the 3 dead bodies inside of the bus, they torched it with diesel they had brought with a jerrycan.
Life is definitely cheaper here, it is a "Wild West" environment.
Regressing to McDonalds...We have a large cattle operation and yet even I can't find decent beef here. We raise Brahma hybrids and they taste like shit, but that's what folks eat here. Every once and again I get a hankering for an American-type burger. There is actually a place in Davao City, "Space Burger," two shoppes, that do make a great burger, but I get to Butuan more often. I will sometimes get a Big Mac but most of the menu is shit. Catering to local tastes, instead of crisps (fries), you get a ball of boiled white rice. Tikes. The most popular burger? The "McDo," as in McJew. It is a soggy little disc with a garish pink sauce that is especially popular here, mafe from mayonnaise and banana catsup (ketchup). Yep, they don't use tomatoes here. Instead, catsup is made from green banas, sugar, and food colouring. It is among the more disgusting shit I have ever eaten but locals love it (considering that the army made me eat rat and drink my own urine my aversion is a good indicator of how foul the Mc5o and its banana shit tastes like.
Ill perhaps post some photos in the next entry.
I am, at heart, a Luddite. I disdain most modern comforts and more than that, I am sickened by crass globalist, American- derived fast food culture. I remember when Jose Bove, a French farmer, drove his tractor through a McDonald's plate glass window shortly after it opened in hia quaint French village. He went on to create what has become known as the "Slow Food Movement." A hero as I see it, though I personally abhor the destruction of private property I definitely dig that symbolism.
We have McDonald's here, in the island's three biggest cities (Davao, Cagayam del Oro, and Butuan). Butuan City is the closest, about a 120 km ride down out of the mountains on a cleanl road that even, inexplicably, has 4 lanes in some parts. I say inexplicable because this is an incredibly poor place, one of the poorest in an excruciatingly poor nation. Seeing entire families sleeping on cardboard on the sidewalks of Manila still irks me after all these years.
As a particularly poor region there aren't a lot of vehicles. The primary form of public transportation is a "habal habal" (as in "Hubble," like the telescope) and to a lesser extent, "skylabs" (as in the space station). A habal is simply a motorcycle dirtbike, a 250cc or less, with an extended seat that can, and often does, carry 4 passengers, more if kids are present- and helmets are non-existent. Skylabs are the same thing but with two, full size wooden pallets attached, one on each side off of the seat, as in wings...just like the real Skylab once had. The pallets hold freight and or more people. The most people I have ever seen riding on one was 12 adults and a couple of toddlers. Sometimes only 6 or 7 people and a couple of full sized pigs, etc.
In long distance travel most ride "Jeepneys," WWII surplus Willys Jeeps with the drive shaft extended until it is as long as a small school bus. Plastic or wooden benches are placed along the sides of the interior. A "konduktor" rides hanging off the back and collects the 70 US Cents that people pay, you just knock on the metal to get the driver to stop, as he plys a regular route. There are usually a dozen or so people plus livestock on the roof as well. There are also commercial bus routes for long hauls, but on Mindanao you literally risk being murdered or kidnapped while riding them. The most recent attack on one that I recall was in the municipality of Tungawan, wheb four kids got on after flagging down the bus on the hiway, a common way to catch a bus here.
When the driver began negotiating a series of "s" turns on a mountain road two of them stood up, without a word, one pivoted 180 degrees and nailed one of two paramilitary soldiers, working for the bus company as "marshals." The 45 caliber round literally went right between his eyes. Boy #2 trained his pistol on Marshal #2. Sitting next to the murdered marshal was an Army Major, Julastidi Arasid of the 18IB (Infantry Battalion), with his wife Sitti Ayala Arasid and their 15 year old son. The Major was out of uniform, they were going to their son's graduation, as highschool here ends by age 16.
The Major reached for his service pistol but both him and his wife were nailed as well, ad the second boy shot the other marshal. The Major's 15 year old son dived out of the open window and ran. All passengers were made to exit the bus. Then, leaving the 3 dead bodies inside of the bus, they torched it with diesel they had brought with a jerrycan.
Life is definitely cheaper here, it is a "Wild West" environment.
Regressing to McDonalds...We have a large cattle operation and yet even I can't find decent beef here. We raise Brahma hybrids and they taste like shit, but that's what folks eat here. Every once and again I get a hankering for an American-type burger. There is actually a place in Davao City, "Space Burger," two shoppes, that do make a great burger, but I get to Butuan more often. I will sometimes get a Big Mac but most of the menu is shit. Catering to local tastes, instead of crisps (fries), you get a ball of boiled white rice. Tikes. The most popular burger? The "McDo," as in McJew. It is a soggy little disc with a garish pink sauce that is especially popular here, mafe from mayonnaise and banana catsup (ketchup). Yep, they don't use tomatoes here. Instead, catsup is made from green banas, sugar, and food colouring. It is among the more disgusting shit I have ever eaten but locals love it (considering that the army made me eat rat and drink my own urine my aversion is a good indicator of how foul the Mc5o and its banana shit tastes like.
Ill perhaps post some photos in the next entry.
I was just told that a documentary had been made by some dickhead foreigner who idealises the NPA (Maoists) and their "struggle." In the late 1990s he embedded with the NPA and shot a film about it, focusing on a particular Hilltribe, the Mandaya. It is on Youtube, in three parts, actually uploaded by the Bicol Regional Command, an NPA formation on Luzon. The title is "Green Guerillas."
The film allows one to see what life is like here in the bush although the filmmaker, Ron Prosser, painted the NPA as environmentalists which is bullshit. When they blow up mining camps it is because the company is delinquent on its quarterly Revolutionary Taxes, not because the Maoists actually give a flying fuck about birds and worms. If they did they would prevent Artisinal Mining, small scale miners pouring cyanide and mercury into once pristine waterways, and small time loggers cutting the nation's last large virgin forest, the jungle around me.
Some may recall that we used to broker timer. When I would go to Seoul or to Nagoya in Japan it was to sell shiploads. We got into it because among our other busineses we farm timber. Actually not much farming goes on. We live in the Andap Valley, near Agusan Marsh. Agusan makes the Everglades in America look like a joke. 6 meter crocodiles are common. Now, I know many reading this will smell bullshit. After all, the world record is less than 6.5, or 19 feet, in Australia. Some may recall I told how a Hilltribe girl living in the Marsh had been snatched out of her dugout and decapitated on the way to school by a 7 meter (21 footer), well, to any doubters, Lolong, a 21 footer, was captured alive not even actually in the marsh a month ago. He has been certified by Guiness OFFICIALLY...anyway...in our tracts inside the Marsh we have a shitload of trees. Indeed, that is where my Mitragyna is. We harbest it for architectural trim and furniture manufacturers but of course I sell the leaf (Kratom), making me one of only two actual wholesalers in the world.
However, in 2008, when Dad, Rizza's father Mario, asked me if we should branch out into logging I immediately shut him down. He had his eye on tropical hardwood like Gemelina, which some are even cultivating here now, but there is too much violence related to actual logging, not worth the headaches.
One of my two oldest brothers in law, though I won't say which, had been pushing for logging. When I said no he argued that since we already brokered loads FOR logging outfits, consolidating loads, etc., that it wasn't that great a leap. Well, I thank him because it was that frame of reference that made me shut down that sideline. No more environmentally destructive bullshit.
Anyway, the film? It was shot in the hills right behind my home. As noted it focuses on the Mandaya Tribe. When you marry here you get G-Dparents. My G-Dmother is Colonel Lademora's daughter, one of the 3 revolving mayors. My G-Dfather though is a Manobo Tribesmen from the Marsh though he was "civilised" (terrible word but that is what they use here) in adolescence. He is liason between our provincial governor-another of Rizza's relatives- and various paramilitaries including mine.
The paramilitary, BULIF, or Bungkatoal Liberation Front, is a Tribal Army, from the Higaon-on Tribe, Jackie's tribe. The word "Bungkatoal" means "Truth in the Golden Cup," which relates to Higaon-on Tribal Law. The Higaon-on were militarised heavily under the counterinsurgency plan OPlan Bantay Laya I and II (Operational Plan Guarding the People), from a sub-protocol in the ISP (Internal Security Plan), " IP," meaning "Indigenous Peoples." BULIF was extant, but under the sub-protocol was grandfathered into the AFP's CAA (Civilian Active Auxiliary) programme. Specifically, it is an SCAA (Special Citizen Active Auxiliary). SCAAs are private armies that are highly co-ordinated with the military, the AFP (Armed Forces of the Philippines).
The film allows one to see what life is like here in the bush although the filmmaker, Ron Prosser, painted the NPA as environmentalists which is bullshit. When they blow up mining camps it is because the company is delinquent on its quarterly Revolutionary Taxes, not because the Maoists actually give a flying fuck about birds and worms. If they did they would prevent Artisinal Mining, small scale miners pouring cyanide and mercury into once pristine waterways, and small time loggers cutting the nation's last large virgin forest, the jungle around me.
Some may recall that we used to broker timer. When I would go to Seoul or to Nagoya in Japan it was to sell shiploads. We got into it because among our other busineses we farm timber. Actually not much farming goes on. We live in the Andap Valley, near Agusan Marsh. Agusan makes the Everglades in America look like a joke. 6 meter crocodiles are common. Now, I know many reading this will smell bullshit. After all, the world record is less than 6.5, or 19 feet, in Australia. Some may recall I told how a Hilltribe girl living in the Marsh had been snatched out of her dugout and decapitated on the way to school by a 7 meter (21 footer), well, to any doubters, Lolong, a 21 footer, was captured alive not even actually in the marsh a month ago. He has been certified by Guiness OFFICIALLY...anyway...in our tracts inside the Marsh we have a shitload of trees. Indeed, that is where my Mitragyna is. We harbest it for architectural trim and furniture manufacturers but of course I sell the leaf (Kratom), making me one of only two actual wholesalers in the world.
However, in 2008, when Dad, Rizza's father Mario, asked me if we should branch out into logging I immediately shut him down. He had his eye on tropical hardwood like Gemelina, which some are even cultivating here now, but there is too much violence related to actual logging, not worth the headaches.
One of my two oldest brothers in law, though I won't say which, had been pushing for logging. When I said no he argued that since we already brokered loads FOR logging outfits, consolidating loads, etc., that it wasn't that great a leap. Well, I thank him because it was that frame of reference that made me shut down that sideline. No more environmentally destructive bullshit.
Anyway, the film? It was shot in the hills right behind my home. As noted it focuses on the Mandaya Tribe. When you marry here you get G-Dparents. My G-Dmother is Colonel Lademora's daughter, one of the 3 revolving mayors. My G-Dfather though is a Manobo Tribesmen from the Marsh though he was "civilised" (terrible word but that is what they use here) in adolescence. He is liason between our provincial governor-another of Rizza's relatives- and various paramilitaries including mine.
The paramilitary, BULIF, or Bungkatoal Liberation Front, is a Tribal Army, from the Higaon-on Tribe, Jackie's tribe. The word "Bungkatoal" means "Truth in the Golden Cup," which relates to Higaon-on Tribal Law. The Higaon-on were militarised heavily under the counterinsurgency plan OPlan Bantay Laya I and II (Operational Plan Guarding the People), from a sub-protocol in the ISP (Internal Security Plan), " IP," meaning "Indigenous Peoples." BULIF was extant, but under the sub-protocol was grandfathered into the AFP's CAA (Civilian Active Auxiliary) programme. Specifically, it is an SCAA (Special Citizen Active Auxiliary). SCAAs are private armies that are highly co-ordinated with the military, the AFP (Armed Forces of the Philippines).
Cagayan del Oro City is the largest city in Northern Mindanao. I go there often enough because of my involvement with BULIF. As an ostensibly pro-Government paramilitary we co-ordinate our activities with the 4ID (Infantry Division), whose headquarters sits in that city's Camp Evangelista. Some may remember that my ex-lover Jackie lived on that base, and indeed that is where she and I met.
To get there we drive 110km to Butuan City, on the Northern Coast, then west for nearly 300km although as the crow flies it is less than 200km. It is a looooooong, slow ride and I always sleep through most of it. I also used to take extra trips there because Rizza's eldest brother, 25 year old Nigel worked in a hospital there before departing for England.
For some reason that city has a small expat community and for whatever reason most of these foreigners are fucked in the head. Two Swedes for example, just got Life for running a cyber-sex outfit. Here, outside the largesr cities, that one and Davao City, there is no rule of law. It is all clans, tribes, and paramilitaries. Personally I don't understand how any foreigner could even visit here if not tied into a powerful family. Life in a Philippine prison has to be a terrible hell.
In any event, I spent yesterday at 1001 Brigade HQ, in Monkayo, 90km south of here, trying to close a sale on 100 units of Tavor Micro,probably the best assault rifle on the planet at the moment. I was suprised to hear that those two dumb Swedes had been waiting for an escape tinnel to pop up in their prison yard. Their connection had gotten 86 meters from a nipa, a bamboo framed and palm leaf thatched hut that serves as a home for most here. The tunnel began inside the nipa and they were at the prison wall when someone sold them out. Five months of waiting for nothing. Me? I would just offer half a million Pesos (about 11K American) and walk out the front door and into a boat heading to Indonesia. Fuck the 5 months of waiting and depending upon others.
So, in talking to the General, the Brigade CO, I found out that BI (Immigration) is preparing a list of foreigners to deport. Of course that was interesting, because on this island nothing of the sort has ever taken place. Seems some dickhead Indonesian who had gained American citizenship came here a year and a half ago and went apeshit.
Getting hooked on "Shabu," the nearly pure smokable methamphetamine that sells for 16 US a gramme. As many crank addicts will do, he went nuts. Anyway, he was imprisoned in a two bedroom mini-villa at his own expense as they figured out what to do with him. Two weeks ago he simply walked away in Davao City. He was caught within 2 days by tracing his last visitors but the episode has led to a shakeup of sorts.
Six names are on the list. The two Swedes, two Taiwanese Shabu manufacturers who are in that same prison, one with Life, one acquitted (after coughing up cash) but both facing new cases. The last two are Americans wanted for banging minors. This place is really strange on that issue. If you are a Muslim or an Animist you can marry a 3 year old but if, you are like 90% here and are Christian, you better not hold hands with someone under 18, or else...Of course I did just that but then my wife's family is the most powerful in this region so I could do most anything but the point is the hypocrisy.
There is a scam, where poor families have a 16 year old daughter, or whatever, come on to foreigners. After a night of fun she leaves early only to return with papa and police and police here are worse than criminals. Pay thousands of US Dollars you can leave, if not, your life is ruined. See, here is the thing, here? People graduate highschool by age 15 or 16. By 20 they are college grads. You come here, you meet a 17 year old who is a sophmore at university, and it throws one for a loop. Of course some foreigners are sex tourists, maybe most for all I know, in which case I reckon they get what is coming to them.
The other big scam here are the "gold peddlers." They tell foreigners some Hilltribesmen discovered a US plane from WWII deep in the jungle carrying gold ingots and being primitive tribesmen, they have no idea of the actual value and will sell, say 5 Million US in gold for 50,000 US. Of course they then produce gold plated lead bars. It never ceases to amaze me how they reel in sucker after sucker.
Alternatives involve nickel babbit or bearer bonds, etc. The 3 Koreans just kidnapped? I believe I mentioned them recently, were "treasure hunters" who ended up kidnapped by their guides. Oh well.
To get there we drive 110km to Butuan City, on the Northern Coast, then west for nearly 300km although as the crow flies it is less than 200km. It is a looooooong, slow ride and I always sleep through most of it. I also used to take extra trips there because Rizza's eldest brother, 25 year old Nigel worked in a hospital there before departing for England.
For some reason that city has a small expat community and for whatever reason most of these foreigners are fucked in the head. Two Swedes for example, just got Life for running a cyber-sex outfit. Here, outside the largesr cities, that one and Davao City, there is no rule of law. It is all clans, tribes, and paramilitaries. Personally I don't understand how any foreigner could even visit here if not tied into a powerful family. Life in a Philippine prison has to be a terrible hell.
In any event, I spent yesterday at 1001 Brigade HQ, in Monkayo, 90km south of here, trying to close a sale on 100 units of Tavor Micro,probably the best assault rifle on the planet at the moment. I was suprised to hear that those two dumb Swedes had been waiting for an escape tinnel to pop up in their prison yard. Their connection had gotten 86 meters from a nipa, a bamboo framed and palm leaf thatched hut that serves as a home for most here. The tunnel began inside the nipa and they were at the prison wall when someone sold them out. Five months of waiting for nothing. Me? I would just offer half a million Pesos (about 11K American) and walk out the front door and into a boat heading to Indonesia. Fuck the 5 months of waiting and depending upon others.
So, in talking to the General, the Brigade CO, I found out that BI (Immigration) is preparing a list of foreigners to deport. Of course that was interesting, because on this island nothing of the sort has ever taken place. Seems some dickhead Indonesian who had gained American citizenship came here a year and a half ago and went apeshit.
Getting hooked on "Shabu," the nearly pure smokable methamphetamine that sells for 16 US a gramme. As many crank addicts will do, he went nuts. Anyway, he was imprisoned in a two bedroom mini-villa at his own expense as they figured out what to do with him. Two weeks ago he simply walked away in Davao City. He was caught within 2 days by tracing his last visitors but the episode has led to a shakeup of sorts.
Six names are on the list. The two Swedes, two Taiwanese Shabu manufacturers who are in that same prison, one with Life, one acquitted (after coughing up cash) but both facing new cases. The last two are Americans wanted for banging minors. This place is really strange on that issue. If you are a Muslim or an Animist you can marry a 3 year old but if, you are like 90% here and are Christian, you better not hold hands with someone under 18, or else...Of course I did just that but then my wife's family is the most powerful in this region so I could do most anything but the point is the hypocrisy.
There is a scam, where poor families have a 16 year old daughter, or whatever, come on to foreigners. After a night of fun she leaves early only to return with papa and police and police here are worse than criminals. Pay thousands of US Dollars you can leave, if not, your life is ruined. See, here is the thing, here? People graduate highschool by age 15 or 16. By 20 they are college grads. You come here, you meet a 17 year old who is a sophmore at university, and it throws one for a loop. Of course some foreigners are sex tourists, maybe most for all I know, in which case I reckon they get what is coming to them.
The other big scam here are the "gold peddlers." They tell foreigners some Hilltribesmen discovered a US plane from WWII deep in the jungle carrying gold ingots and being primitive tribesmen, they have no idea of the actual value and will sell, say 5 Million US in gold for 50,000 US. Of course they then produce gold plated lead bars. It never ceases to amaze me how they reel in sucker after sucker.
Alternatives involve nickel babbit or bearer bonds, etc. The 3 Koreans just kidnapped? I believe I mentioned them recently, were "treasure hunters" who ended up kidnapped by their guides. Oh well.