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Today should suck more than it does.

3rd day off Klonopin but still drunk from last night so it doesn't hurt as bad as it should. I barely enjoy anything anymore without them it seems.

It's not addiction because I went off them for 2 years and felt like this the entire time. Just chronic anxiety and depression due to post traumatic stress and current financial and life woes.I've a sneaking suspicion it has to do with receptor manipulation/damage due to an on/off SNRI regime as well.

I want to reincarnate into a giant tortoise. Calm, meditative, content. Vegetarian. Lovely life. Especially a petstore tortoise who's not for sale.

Week sober. Feel better than I have in years. Talking too much, rambling coherencies like a wolverine trapped in a bear trap with a harvard education. I'm back, bubba, ho ho. Let the good times roll. I missed you freaks. ♥

Don't worry. This won't hurt a bit. Act your age.

Anyone who's ever been inspired or in the very least vaguely amused or interested in my rambling nonsensical gibberish PM me. I need new friends, I'm living a hermetic existence and I'm running out of people to speak to. May you live in interesting times.

So yesterday/today was really fun. I bought some pills (what else is new?) but after that me and my girlfriend went to this arcade complex. We got Dippin' Dots (aren't they the shit?! The ones my girlfriend got had fucking POP ROCKS in them!) and I played Whack-a-mole. Then we played Dance Dance Revolution and I'm sure I looked like a complete ass but it was so much fun. When I'm old and rich I'm so getting a DDR machine put in my basement. Then we played air hockey and I totally won. YEAH, BITCH, I WON! I never win at air hockey so it was really an accomplishment for me.

So yeah, it was really fun. I was chemically altered quite a bit, to say the least, but today kind of showed me that I can also have some nice clean fun. Fun is expensive though, whether or not it's clean or dirty. Hmmm.

Then we went to CVS for something to drink. Their coffee selection sucked so I got a Mountain Dew Code Red. I love those things. They remind me of my freshman year of college. I quit drinking soda though, so don't tell anyone about that slip up. Soda seems to be the only thing I can fucking quit. Oh well.

On the train ride back, the Conductors made some weird announcement about police dogs at the station where I usually go to cop. But then nothing happened, I didn't even see the dogs. They may not have even been drug dogs. It was all messing with my head though. That would have been a shitty time to get caught, though.

We got home, walked the dogs, watched some television and "went to bed" which, for us, usually means have hot sex for hours and not sleep... In fact, I haven't slept yet. I have to go down to Housing Court and crap.

Back to my Life of shit.

so there you have it

of course, nothing happened. he came over, i passed the fuck out, woke up in the morning, we went to the store, i showered, he left.
why did i think anything was going to happen? what the fuck of a retarded idiot am i? i hate this shit. i don't think i will ever be able to forgive him for choosing her to be his girlfriend, that he liked her better than me. so why the fuck are we best friends now? i know, because i have things he needs. and i want him to need me. it just hurts, and i can't seem to ever get over him because he's that great in bed. and yeah people told me over and over and over again ad nauseum 'you'll meet someone else' and all that total fucking bullshit. about 6% of the population are like him in terms of sex. how many of those 6% are easy on the eyes, appealing to me, share my lifestyle and are more or less decent people? so, i guess i have to compromise. i wish i could make myself like more people. i don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. i want to smack myself on the head and make myself normal. or whatever. i had the love of my life for 8 years. i loved him and thought we'll be together forever. and then i got bored and broke up with him.

blah blah blah. so fucking boring, i know what i'm in for and i do nothing to change it. same ole bull shit.

Todays blog is about blogging. The only thing you need to do to successfully blog is to....ready????? BLOG! Any question?

That about sums up my character. Surely it won't be long until I get myself a Darwin Award or something.

How I see the world and how others see it are so far about, I feel like an alien or a child at times, still learning what people my age should have learnt 20 years ago. I seem to have stopped developing (mentally) around the age of 15.

Today I discharged myself from my psychiatrist even tho its probably something I really need and will probably never have the opportunity to get again, all because I made some stupid comments to them over the phone when i was pretty cracked out on benzos.... damn loss of inhibitions will be the death of me I swear...

Anyway... they are gunna call me sometime this afternoon to discuss discharging me but there is no way on earth I am going back there after what I said..

Also, I find that being treated there has made me lose all trust in people, anything you say to them is written down/recorded/passed onto others in some way shape or form.

It is a shame in some ways cus my regular doctor was so happy I wen there (probably cus I was pissing him off) but I went there with a bad eye today that wont clear up and he said hes glad Im getting the psychiatric care I need... less than 20 minutes later Im called to discharge myself

My behavior is so erratic. I'm a child.

While I'm writing this there's been some sort of Suidae outside my door, knocking for half an hour. He may keep trying to get in, but he doesn't have a warrant. Just a reminder to you all, don't open the door unless they show you a warrant first, and if you must; step outside with them and close the door behind you or even have a friend lock it behind you.

Don't do anything stupid or illegal in a first floor room where anyone can even slightly see inside. Even if it's the main level of your house, buy some thick curtains.

Don't get bored and give up, they have to get called away from your house eventually, and even if they didn't... you could call the on duty popos for the off duty one that would now be trespassing.

This is second nature to most of you, of course. Just a friendly reminder.

I'm sad to say that I found out that a friend of mine passed away on Sunday from an unspecified illness. Details are sketchy just now, I only found out because her sister texted me to give me details for the funeral. I can't go to the funeral because it's too far away.

She was only in her early 40's. She leaves two beautiful daughters, Josie Cash and Eden, and a loving partner called Ege.

Paula "Red" Francis was my lifeline this year. We met through our mutual friend Tom, through a mutual love of bitching about materialistic idiots who think the price of a pair of shoes is a status symbol. She told me I should move to London and study to be a makeup artist like she was, and she saved my sanity when I was turning 30. The nicest thing she ever told me was that I reminded her of herself at my age. If I'm anything like Paula was... I'll be a happy lady. She was amazing.

Paula was a makeup artist who worked on music videos with the cream of 80's new wave stars. She loved Poly Styrene and was devastated when she passed away. I like to think she's sitting chewing the fat with Poly now.

Paula was gorgeous. She was also a lovely, deep person who experienced the same torrent of emotions daily as I do. We were kindreds in that respect. She was always quick to tell me that I was beautiful and that everything was going to work out for me, and that I deserved it. I always appreciated how she believed in me.

I hadn't heard from her for a wee while, but that wasn't unusual as she was always busy with something. I will miss her random texts and chat. I wish I'd thought to contact her sooner. I wish I hadn't left it. I didn't know she was ill but from what I hear nobody knew and this has been a shock to everyone that knew her.

I'm waiting to get an email from Tom to tell me what happened. I went back onto Facebook just to leave her a message... I didn't know what else to do... and I'm adding a red crystal to my sleeve tattoo just for her.

I'll never forget you Paula and I miss you so much it hurts. I've shed so many tears today. There'll be more before bedtime.

You always believed in me, now I have to believe in myself. I'll do it for you and I'll do it for me. I hope you watch over me. I hope you watch over us all.

The world is a sad place, and your loss is tragic.

Love you much, Red.

xxx

*Tom updates that she had massive liver failure, ended up in a coma after an infection hit her brain, and it killed her. He's trying to organise a memorial gig with the Specials, as she was friendly with Terry Hall. I'll get there even if I have to hitch.

My latest scribblings! Yesterday I was hit with a brainwave of sorts, whereby I take album/EP/LP titles and put my own spin on them. I'm using the same media throughout all the work, namely ink and marker pen, in order to create some consistency between the pieces, and making it a slicker body of work as a whole. Any criticisms and ideas for future concepts would be greatly appreciated!

111107



There is nothing exciting going on here other than that I am doing the usual chores. I have been doing some restoration work on some of the old homestead buildings. The roofs for example were in bad shape. They are made of wooden Tamarack shingles that must be nearly 100 years old. Many of the shingles are dry rotted and have split. The result is that the roofs leak.

I've simply put tin roofs on the buildings on top of the original tamarack shingles. I also harvest some timber and firewood (mostly dead fall) on the mountain, feed the horses, harvest mushrooms in the forest, etc. This labor takes around 4 hours a day on average. Then I'm done, and I'm free to do what I want.

Mostly, I read. Usually non fiction subjects that I touched on when I was working on my degree and that I would like ot go into further --- Sometimes I feel as though I am wasting my mind and university degree out here. Or I sketch or work on my journal.

I also do some cardio. One of my favorite exercise is to put on a 50 pound backpack and go for a run for a few miles usually to the eagle's nest on the top of a cliff overlooking the gorge. This might sound excessive, but I don't want to lose the strength and endurance that I gained during my trek last summer. I hope to be fit enough to climb Denali or something in a year or 2. Or I ride my mountain bike on some of hte trails -- they are very hilly. Or I pump iron.

Another way I occupy myself is by contemplating my dreams. Dreams are usually boring stuff, a form of mental noise, but mine have been unusually vivid these past few weeks. And they have contained some interesting information. I don't expect anybody to be interested in reading an account of another's dreams, but this one I want to share has some interesting Mexican folk music for those who like music from different cultures. It was moving. Obviously I can't do direct audio-visual from the dream, but I have provided a Youtube link and the lyrics below. The song-writer (Mendez) sort of describes the intensity of the way I felt during the dream.

This is dream sequence from a few days ago. It had an interesting synchronistic component (the song) in which some interesting music I have no conscious memory of ever having heard was transmitted to me. I was able to remember the name and the spelling long enough afer waking to write it down and research it.


Cucurrucucu Polama - Dream of Loss

Here is the sequence:

First dream -- girlfriend had mysteriously vanished. I looked everywhere and could not find her. It was non-lucid.

Second dream --Empathy. I dreamed that I was someone who had just lost his lover. She had been shot by soldiers. He/I grieved.

3rd dream-- she had gone away without telling me. She never returned.

There were several more that followed the same story line. A man loses his girlfriend/wife/lover/partner and the sadness and sense of loss build with each successive dream until I felt as though I were going to break from the weight of the sorrow.

Finally I became aware that these were only dreams, and then cycle ended.

After those dreams, I still dreamed but my location had changed. My surroundings were vague, dark, and poorly defined. But I had the impression of being in a courtyard under a starry sky. A man with dark hair faced me. His demeanor was stern. Someone sang Mexican-style music in the background, but I couldn't make it out.

He spoke: "....polama cucurruco polama cocurruco..." repeating the same 2 words several times.

"Write them down"

Suddenly I had a pencil and notebook. I tried to obey.

I started: "curoucuucio".. "No," he said.

Again: " caruru"... "No!" he snapped.

"Carucjuccio..." "No!"

"No, 5 "U"s. The fact that you can't spell these words shows your lack of character and your poor memory."

Sorry. I tend to be dyslexic whenever I have to deal with written text in the dream state. Letters often rearrange themselves. and a word like that has too many repeating syllables for me to tell the beginning from the end. Honestly, I don't think I could even get that word right if I were awake.

Each time I tried to spell it, I got it wrong and he would snap at me. He reminded me of a teacher who hated me during school and who was gravely disappointed in me whenever I didn't know the answer when he called on me.

"It's 'cucurrucucu' he finally said and showed me the spelling. And I remembered the first word "paroma." That one is easy enough to sound out. It sounds like an Indian name.

"Remember them. Write them when you wake up. That is the key to understanding the dreams you just had."

There a flash of starlight. Just as in another recent dream, the stars gave me the impression of forming a web or a vast intelligent network.

Obediently I woke up at that instant so I wouldn't forget them. I scribbled them into my notebook on the night table in the dark.

I vaguely wondered what they mean, if anything. These are words I don't know. Are they from a foreign language? Or are they only the noise and nonsense from a meaningless dream? Though "paroma" I have heard before or seen on a sign. I think there is a boutique in Portland that bears the name Paroma. I don't know the meaning or even if it has one.

Synchronicity

Finally today I Googled "Paloma cucurrucucu"
Several results popped up. Mostly Youtube links.
Here are the interesting ones I found:

A song bears that name. Though it is impossible to confirm, this song sounds like the one I heard in the dream:

www.youtube.com/watch?V=-CsA1CcA4Z8

And a wiki article:
"Cucurrucucu Paroma" is a Mexican Huapango song written by Tomas Mendez ...

The lyics fit the way I felt during the dream:

cucurrucucu paloma

Dicen que por las noches
no mas se le iba en puro llorar,
dicen que no comía
no mas se le iba en puro tomar;
juran que el mismo cielo
se estremecía al oír su llanto
Cómo sufrió por ella,
que hasta en su muerte la fué llamando:

Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, lloraba,
ay, ay, ay, ay, gemía,
ay, ay, ay, ay, cantaba
de pasión mortal moría.

Que una paloma triste
muy de mañana le va a cantar
a la casita sola
con sus puertitas de par en par;
juran que esa paloma
no es otra cosa mas que su alma,
que todavía la espera
a que regrese la desdichada.

Cucurrucucú, paloma,
cucurrucucú, no llores.
Las piedras jamás, paloma
qué van a saber de amores.

Cucurrucucú, cucurrucucú,
cucurrucucú, paloma no llores.

ENGLISH

They say that at nights
all he could do was cry all the time
they say he won´t eat
all he could do was drink at all times
they swear that heaven itself
would tremble hearing his crying
He suffered so much for her
that even on his death he was calling her

ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, he cried
ay, ay ay ay ay, he sobbed
ay ay ay ay ay he sang
from a deadly passion, he died

That a sad sparrow
early in the morning goes to sing
at the lonely little house
with it´s liitle doors wide open
They swear that that sparrow
is nothing else than his soul
still waiting for her return

Cucucrrucucu, sparrow
cucucrrucucu, don´t cry
stones will never, sparrow
know anything about love

cucurrucucu, cucurrucucu
cucurrucucu, sparrow don´t cry

Having researched the words and gotten a hit through Google, the dreams still don't make sense to me. Why did I dream them?As for the last part of the dream, why did I get a song I have never heard of? I like the music, but it leaves me with more questions than answers.

this is a note



this is my mind



people are talking around me, im not listening, but theyre talking



probably about shit that has nothing to do with anything i even remotely know about, but they are all invested in it, and i appreciate that. that they truly enjoy what theyre talking about, whatever it is. whether its drug induced, or pure raw thought. who knows, they are happily enjoying each others company.



im sitting here, literally inches away, with a computer on my lap typing, typing about nothing. i probably wont even post this, its just something to do i suppose, because i am an addict. i have a desire to quit drugs and foreign substances. its legitimate, at least, i think its legitimate. but i am influenced by LSD right this very moment. And I love it, I love the substance, all that it has to offer. Mind expansion, wavy walls, heightened senses ect ect... I am not addicted to LSD, I am not addicted to any specific drug. I am addicted to an escape from reality. and its deeper then i can even express.



i have faced all my demons, i have accepted all the truths about myself. my perception of myself, my perception of other peoples perceptions about me. but there is still something that i desire outside of this realm of existence.



everything that exists, exists within me. I am everything, everything is me. This is not any type of "profound" or "spiritual" thought. This is pure selfishness. And its not induced by anything, it is naturally who I am. Why is that? I haven't a clue, maybe I use drugs as a way to locate the roots of my selfishness, but i don't think that. All i know is I am selfish, and I am trying hard, going against all that i have previously announced i "stood" for, because what i "stood" for was drugs, "going hard", violence. stupid shit you know. not helping life in any way.



I'm trying to get a job, not because I want a job, not because I want money. Only to repay those people that I owe, mainly my parents. I don't care about money, it has no value to me, but i also realize to other people that it does, and they deserve what they are owed, so I am going to pay them, at whatever the cost.



i just closed my eyes, all i saw was fractal patterns of bright colors, mainly oranges, purples, reds, blues, just bright colors in general. all in kaleidoscope style patterns, awesome, looks amazing. but what meaning does it hold? none, none whatsoever. actually wait, here is what it holds. it holds fear, fear in the people who actually do legitimately care about me. because i am on "drugs", because they think I am "killing" myself. and thats what drugs do, they cause fear in people. not the people who use them, no, because i am not scared, i am not scared of anything. but there is people who are scared for me, and its effecting them. i sit here, in my altered states of reality, and MY life is negatively effecting the lives of others. and that is a selfish statement, but its a true statement, and i know its true. and i dont want anybody to be negatively effected by me. i need to stop, hopefully i can, soon, hopefully.



i think i may have just saved a life. someone who is with me who i have been paying no mind to for the most part, to be completely honest. and i just stopped him from making a mistake. the mistake was his to make, but it could have very likely been a fatal mistake, and even though i don't like to intervene in peoples decisions, i did



this is all current events. this is all right now, this very moment. I am influenced by LSD, they are influenced by alcohol, which I don't drink at all, ever, anymore.



this is the mind of a depressed person who uses psychadelic drugs. this is the truth, this is my mind.

I slept through my film class and midterm. This was supposed to be the make-up miidtern, FUUUUCK,

I got an eviction notice from my landlord. I have the money to pay it so I am not worried but I wanted to use that money for something else. Oh well. I wish I didn't have my brother to take care of. I'd go traveling somewhere. I'd go move in with an old friend, maybe. Find a job on the west coast. Learn how to drive.

I just need a change of scenery. Or else I am going to go crazy. I may even try to off myself. That cigarette burn felt pretty good. I was really triggered to start cutting myself...

My girlfriend and I have BDSM sessions. She spanks me till I'm bruised and welted. I love it. I need it. I get so wet when she does it... I get off on pain. I feel so lucky to have her. When I was with a guy, they never wanted to spank me. I guess most guys would see it as something bad. Guys don't like to hit women. But if I asked for it, it's not a beating or anything. It's just play... which usually leads to sex. You'd think a guy would jump at the chance... I guess the guys I was with were mostly vanilla. Luckily the wonderful lady I'm with is kinky.

I do want to marry her now that same-sex marriage is legal in New York. I just don't want to ruin her credit.

Jesus christ I keep nodding out so I am going to stop typing. OVER AND OUT!!!!!!

Finally. I've been "writing" this "project" for 5 years... About my experiences going from a G-rated life to an X-rated life which I'd stupidly thought I could keep a secret life, but that was not what happened. I randomly talk about it here. Non-specifically talk about it elsewhere where I'm not anon. I was being a typical "perfectionist" on speed by focusing way too much on details no one would notice anyway. Finally I just said DO IT, and gave myself a deadline... Late December this year. I'm writing it like a "real" project. Not a casual blog, not a whiny journal, not an expose, but an anonymously written - professionally written - autobiographical true life story of non-cliche, non-stereotypical sex, porn, drugs, love, lies, lessons unexpectedly found, and the underlying themes of do we really have control of what happens at all or is it all a crap shoot, or in the middle?

I am including A LOT of specific song links, all genres. Because the ONE thing I have been able to rely on in these 10+ yrs that ranged from ultimate happiness and freedom to total apathy and complete limits placed on what I could or could not do, was and is music. No matter what style, I could rely on it to either allow me catharsis or to pull my mood the way I wanted it to.

I still do not know exactly HOW I am releasing this, either as a pre-written "blog," or an e-book, or a group of articles, or all those ways... But I know the structure, themes, have the words down. I will be editing it completely so it's not a mess. I really need to work on it NOT being a pity fest and whine-ville...

I have to include the real humor, irony, and full range of people and emotions in it so it won't be something used in the exactly opposite way I want for it.

Thank god I'm remembering my college lit classes now, cuz I did do well in them... Lol.

Glad I can vent here first... Kinda a filter for what I will be really saying in my "Project." as I am calling it for now.

Not much has changed for me since I started posting Here again a few months ago... Still on probation, still love-less, still not the happiest, still hard on myself and my situation and still know there is no easy way out of it... Living with my parents at age 35, having each mood/word/behavior examined under a microscope by my doc and social worker and parents (and some friends too...)

Still horribly missing freedom, privacy, still sometimes looking at myself as having ruined my life, still super sure I'm being judged by others and even more if they know things about me that I never intended anyone to know... Still missing parts of my life I had so securely before. And still wondering if I will get such back.

But fuck the meds, I flushed them down the toilet... And I'm FINE. Better... Bye Prozac. Bye Abilify. NO THANKS Depakote (the one they want me to try now... Really??? Why not just give me the benzo I need, who knows, maybe Adderal a try?) I'm not bipolar. I'm not manic. I DO METH. I'd LOVE to roll with G again, really, but that's harder to hide. I'm not quitting... So stop saying I'm bipolar or manic. They know I do meth, still say I'm manic. UM, ok. Depakote's going to be flushed too. (Read all the bad reviews on it, thanks, I don't want anything to do with it.)

Well, the speed I've had for weeks is so low grade I'm eating and sleeping like a normal sober person so I'm going to bed now... Lol.

I made the mistake of trawling through old user names that my ex and I both used. Trying to make some sense of the mess in my head. I knew I'd regret doing it... this is what I found:

http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/400708-Sharlot-(and-the-rogues)?p=6483046#post6483046

I know for sure that this was one of his pseudonyms after the last time "us" finished. Perhaps it's egotistical to think this... but given the time frame and the subject matter... I think this one was about me. As I said in a previous entry he was convinced I'd cheated on him with someone that I had never met.

I can't even begin to describe the wound that has been ripped open by reading that.

I know he'll never read this so I'll give you the truth. I never cheated on him. The guy that he accused me of cheating on him with lived near Manchester and has a fiancee and a teenage son. The irony is I bumped into him at a festival a year after it all ended with my ex and while I got on well with him, there was nothing there. Purely friends. I'm actually shaking as I write this. It's like all the hurt and the pain from all those years ago has come out again. It's like I'm bleeding tears.

What stopped things from working was not the fact that I cheated, because I didn't. It was his lack of faith in me and his own insecurity. Don't get me wrong, I was terrible to him through my own insecurity. I was a jealous and paranoid lover. I treated him badly but only because I wanted to keep him. I couldn't give him space and I found it hard to trust him because I didn't think I was good enough for him. He tried so hard. I tried so hard. But we both failed.

I loved him then. Right down to his bones. I love him now. If he were to find me again in this crazy fucked up world I would give anything to have one more day and night in his company.

I don't ever feel like there was proper closure. There was no real goodbye. There were just vicious words and arguments. When I met him outside a pub a few years later I just wanted to take him home with me and fill my soul with his presence. I've never loved anyone like I loved him then and I will never love anyone that way ever again.

It's been such a long few years trying to get over this whole thing and I don't think I'm ever going to get there. I still tremble at the thought of him. I can't get close to anyone without pushing them away again. Sometimes things happen and I want to talk to him because he's the only person that would have understood.

I used to text him song lyrics about how I was feeling. He used to always get it. I tried it a year or two ago after seeing him. He didn't get it. Maybe he wouldn't understand now. I don't know. I feel trapped in a past that I can't escape from and it's slowly devouring me from the inside, out.

These last few days have been especially hard. I don't know why. Three years have passed, why am I not ok? Why does this continue to burn inside of me?

He'd be so angry if he read this. I'm almost scared that he'll somehow find his way back on BL and see this. But I need to get this out. I need to put it somewhere that nobody who knows me will see because nobody can understand why this still consumes me. I'm ashamed of myself, truly ashamed. Who the fuck am I? What gives me the right to hold on so fiercely to a memory?

Why can't I do what he did and meet someone else?

I feel like I'm two people. On the outside I'm a slightly odd looking 30 year old woman with a crap job who keeps herself to herself and doesn't really connect. On the inside I'm falling apart. Writing masses of mad shit about a relationship gone wrong on a website filled with people that don't know her. Mourning for something that should have been buried three years ago.

I still remember what his phone number was. I still know his face off by heart. I still remember how he smelled. His favourite aftershave.

Why the fuck is this happening to me? Why? I don't want this anymore. He doesn't want me so there's no point in me feeling any of this. I hate it. I hate feeling out of control. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I've been beating myself up for years and at some stage it has to hurt because realistically where the fuck can this go? NOWHERE. NOWHERE.

If he saw this he would be so mad at me. He'd be angry and embarassed and he'd probably still think I cheated on him. Outside of BL there is nobody that knows I feel like this. I think Debbie knows something's wrong that she doesn't know about. That's because she's the closest to a kindred that I've got. One true friend that I can talk to without using words. But she doesn't need to know about this. She's young and needs to find a love of her own. I'm just her daft older friend. All I can do is teach her not to make the same mistakes that I did. I sometimes want to tell her why I feel so sad inside. I just want someone to know, I want someone to tell me how to get over this. Because I'm struggling to go on and it's really not healthy.

I'm not some crazy, deluded stalker. I'm just a girl that fell in love and skinned her knees... and was too afraid to get back up again. Although I'm probably the only girl I know who still holds a torch for someone that left her years ago. Or maybe it's not the holding of the torch. Maybe it's the inability to move on. My heart is a fortress. Nobody gets close anymore.

I wish nothing but the best for that man I love... truly and sincerely I do... sometimes I wonder if he hears my heart screaming his name. I hope not. My pride gets in the way.

I suppose if nothing else I am glad that I got to feel that way about someone if only for once in my life. And I know he loved me too. I'm thankful for all the things he taught me. I regret that it didn't last. Maybe my instinct was right and I just didn't deserve him. I know how much I made him miserable at times. I think maybe I'm just not capable of being loved forever. Nobody else would do anyway. I can get through life without anyone. I can do it. I have my family and my friends and that's all that matters to me. And I have the memories of something that was once wrought with gold. It has tarnished with time... but I will still bring it out and polish it from time to time and be thankful to have had something so beautiful in my possession.

S'cuse me now, I think I need to go and weep this out of my system. I'm so weak. Nobody can find out about this.

In going through my PC I found some photos...The two of Rizza I, where I am in a blue short were taken in front of our main mill, as soon as we flew down from Manila, about 6 days after I retired from the IDF, in July of 2007.

The marriage photo is from our civil wedding. I first married her in 1999, when she was 15, in a Jewish religious service. In the Philippines, Christians (and in this case Jews) may only marry at age 18 and above and until age 25 need both parents' permission. Rizza had just turned 18 and we married in the Philippines so that she would be legally married there as well as in Israel. The Mayor of our town San Francisco (San Franz), who at the time was Mayor Lademora Jr (it rotates between him, his sister, and one of Rizza's uncles) performed the ceremony.

The Lademoras aren't Cebuanos like most Bisaya, they are Ilonggos and only came to San Franz in 1988. Carlos Sr, a retired Lieutenant Colonel in the Constabulary- the now defunct counterinsurgency force- moved to our valley to escape a War Crimes trial for exterminating an entire village (Lieutenant Colonel Carlos "Charlie" Lademora Sr). Listening to his son start whining about Jesus was surreal. There is supposed to be a separation of Church and State here but in reality the separation is non-existent.

The last photo is me during my Winter of 2011 trip to New York City. The difference after the stress of Interferon Treatment and subsequently losing Rizza took a toll on me I suppose. I seem to gave aged 20 years.

It isn't often that I myself operate. I hold American citizenship in addition to my Israeli. America has laws about its citizens involving themselves in other nation's armed conflicts. Laws mean absolutely nothing here but if, for example, I was captured by the NPA, the Maoists, shit would hit the fan pretty quickly. Likewise, the Philippine Government has a bothersome Constitutional provison that bars foreigners like myself from carrying weapons. If some dickhead would happen to take a photo of me, even with a cellphone, it is again, a fan and some shit.

Therefore let me lay out the following in the theoretical sense...

Usually I don't openly carry my rifle outside of our properties, I let the Flips around me do that. Sometimes though they need to be stage managed and on those rare occasions I sometimes- theoreticaly- find myself walking the line. On one such occasion roughly two weeks ago a contact took place where an NPA "platun" (platoon) was ambushed. As much time as they spend in the bush they should know how to move but alas, they are like a Chinese Firedrill, rifles slung on their backs, talking amongst themselves, and generally not paying too much attention.

We set a simple A-B ambush with two fire positions, front and rear one each, but on opposite sides of the trail so as to pin them. To make a long story short three guerillas were killed and several were wounded but escaped with their mates. After sending most of the men after them five of us started combing the ground for weapons, paperwork, what have you.

One of the deas guerillas was a young girl, early 20s, and suprisingly she carried a legitimate I'd, something NPA almost never do. Getting the bodies out for us always takes many hours, sometimes two or three days because unlike the military we can't use copters, though they rarely use them for such chores owing to the expence (the Flip Military, the AFP, is cheap as hell). If lucky we get a couple of ponies or water buffalo (caraboa) but usually we build a litter out of bamboo and drag and carry the remains.

Later, at home a week later just for a couple of hours, I used a search engine to check the girl's I'd. There is nothing like in the West where police, etc.can check an I'd in mere seconds. She was 21, a student at UP Dilman on Luzon, a great school. She dreamed of being a singer, but what really moved me was her poetry. She wrote a lot of it in English and it all focused on social issues. I found myself really thinking.

Rule 1 of infantry recruits is never personalise the opposition. Most humans instinctually have an aversion to hurting people they know. It has never been a problem for me because in Israel U am well grounded politically and believe in the ideology driving the IDF, the Israeli Defense Forces. The Philippines though? What the fuck am I doing here? Yes, I have extencive business interests here, yes I am tied to Rizza's family, but what real stake do I have in a 43 year old insurgency in the Philippines?

It began to really effect me as I read that beautiful girl's poetry and thought to myself that under slightly different circumstances I could be her (well, that and a sex change). "The man that isn't a Socialist by age 20 has no heart but the man that is still a Socialist by age 40 has no brain." I do find that old maxim to be true but who am I to kill over someone's foolishness?

The thoughts kept me pre-occupied for the better part of two weeks and even now I'm still trying to sort through it.

Meanwhile, those who used to read my BL Journal may remember that in 2007 I raised a 4 hectare poppy crop. The plots, all in close proximity, were within a Hilltribe's settlement. Last week they voluntarily uprooted nearly 50 hectares of cannabis, more than 80 acres for you Americans. An 80 acre pot farm is a lot of weed. They did so cause the man behind that single field was only paying them between 200 and 400 Pesos per 50 kilo rice sack full of buds, depending upon the size of the buds. 200 Pesos is 5 US Dollars. They were offered a new road to make travel to and from their village easier, by the Governor of Bukidnon Province if they uprooted the field. Serves the cheap bastard right! Only paying 5 Dollara for 110 pounds of sinsemilla is outrageous. They should have been paid 50 Dollars at least with a single kilo of bud here selling retail for 12 Dollars, he was robbing them. For my poppies I paid a pretty pemny and didn't even harvest opium! I had to do a straw extraction because the Monsoon came early and I risked losing the entire crop.

Only one kidnapping in the last week so things are becoming much more calm here.

I've had a shockingly shit day today. Work has been an absolute nightmare. I've spent the day being shouted at by assholes who don't know what real problems are. I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate my job and I'm stuck in such a rut with it.

I would love to work in a job where I could use my typing skills. Or help people. I'm stuck in a thankless job where assholes shout at me every day over something that isn't my fault.

I'm starting to think I'm going to have to develop my personal time so that I feel more fulfilled... because at the moment life is frustrating me and it's really fucking boring.

It would be better if I actually had a social circle. But, me being me, I don't have that. I do have a fantastic small selection of uber trustworthy people but that's only after getting burnt by a few particularly vile people over the last few years. I get antsy when I'm stuck in the house. Even more so when I'm working 12 to 8 as I come home and I'm too wired to sleep so I pace... then it's back into work... then home...

I must be getting stressed because I can't even bring myself to eat properly at the moment. I did well on Sunday although I didn't manage a whole plateful of anything. Mind you that's probably good because I did have a heavy phase of eating my feelings. I had to learn to tell myself to "put the fork down"...

I've never been a skinny girl... and I've definitely been bigger... but I just don't feel RIGHT at the moment.

In ways I'm grateful that life is ticking along quite smoothly... the only speedbumps I have are of my own making... but fucking hell I could do with some fun.

It's only Tuesday and I can already see myself in the flat this weekend with a bottle of wine painting. Although I do have a big canvas to start working on. That'll be cool.

I kind of miss being able to chat to my friends on Facebook but I couldn't handle it anymore. I found out too much bad shit on that website, I deactivated my profile and I don't know if I'll ever go back on it again. It's shit. Too much exposure to other people's drama.

I'm working three hours overtime the next two days. I want to get a tattoo done next month. I've got "True to you" on one arm and I want to get "Forevermore" on the other. They're Morrissey tribute tattoos. I got the "True to you" tattoo after seeing him play in a local town. That night was fucking incredible. I was so close to him. Right down the front. I stretched my hand out but couldn't get close enough for him to touch it. I did get one of Boz Boorer's plectrums though. It was awesome. I was dancing and I felt a ping on my boob. I looked down on the floor and there was a pink thing on the ground. I picked it up and it was a plectrum with Boz's name on it. It's my lucky charm.

I suppose I better get ready for bed. Nothing much to stay up for. The flat is nice and cozy, and I'm burning incense. I've got some instant porridge, I guess that will do for my dinner. Real food is too much hassle at the moment. Maybe I'll lose some weight. That would be nice.

I've got a Nevil Shute book to read. That'll entertain me for now.

*cue up "Don't You Remember" by Adele*

Well here it is then. The entry that I knew was coming. I've no idea if this is a safe place to write about this... but here goes. My head is in bits, still. I need to try and get this heaviness off my chest.

There was a girl once. She was an immature, silly girl. But she loved a man with all her heart. He came into her life like a bleach blonde whirlwind and turned her life upside down.

Things went wrong and she fucked it up. Not in the way he thinks. He thinks she cheated on him with someone that she had never met. It was a vicious, violent end. Love that ended like the most savage of murders.

At least three years have passed and she still can't get him off of her mind. She's seen him a few times. It's always been ok but she's had to resist the urge to pull him to her and search for the lips that never forgot. But she couldn't do that. Certainly not now. He's met someone else and there's no way he'd want this girl.

The girl still has dreams about him every month or so and they're always arduous dreams. She wakes up having dreamt that he tells her how amazing his new girlfriend is, or she dreams she's sitting in bed with him just talking. Sometimes she dreams they're in the same house as each other but they can't find each other.

Sometimes his works van drives past her. Or she'll be standing waiting to cross the road and he'll pass in the car. She lives in fear when she goes to the supermarket or down the street. Just in case she sees him with his new love. Yet at the same time she wants to see him through morbid curiosity.

This man has become such a part of her that she feels she's almost become him in ways. They shared a lot of traits when they were together... sometimes they could read each other's thoughts... and sometimes she sits at night and looks at her home and knows how wonderfully complete it would be if he was there.

She's tried to move on. God only knows she's tried. She's went through a long period of partying to try and forget him. She's met a couple of nice guys but nothing has ever happened. It's like guys can tell there's still someone else in her heart. And in some ways to replace him would be to let go. Part of her wants to let go because she knows deep down he's not coming back but other parts of her still weep on cold nights when the smell of autumn is in the air.

When does the grieving stop? When does this broken girl learn to love again? What has to happen before she can say goodbye?

The pain she carries is a private pain. It sits on her chest and prevents fresh air from being inhaled. The same stale heartbreak swirls around in her soul.

She got scared a couple of weeks ago. Someone posted a poem on a website she still goes on... one they used to declare love on through the most beautiful poetry. She thought it was him. She understands now that it was wishful thinking... and that perhaps the march of time has left her deluded. Wishing for something that no longer exists in this time. What makes it bittersweet is the fact that the poem, although nothing to do with romance, left her identifying with the loneliness felt by the subject of the poem.

She is her own jailer, her own prisoner. She yearns to break free of the shackles of this obsessive feeling. But she can't seem to let it go no matter how she tries. Her heart is held together with sticking plaster and string.

Once upon a time she would cling to him in the night. Or he would hold onto the back of her tshirt like a child holding a balloon... so that she didn't drift away and get lost forever... now the only things anchoring her to the ground are thoughts of what once was. Of what she lost. Of the unobtainable forever love.

She gets drunk on cheap wine and tries to paint the feelings out of her heart and onto canvas. Sometimes she writes poetry about him. She doesn't live life. She goes out with her camera and takes pictures of everyone else living life and tries to make it look beautiful for them. When she's alone her pictures are always black and white. Drizzly, rainy pictures that people don't see. She feels like they might be quite beautiful but this is her pain. Her dirty secret. The outside world can never know. They think she's mad. Tell her to move on.

But how can she move on from something that she never quite had?

She misses the billy nights, the cuddles in the kitchen, the spontaneity, the sex, the way he fiddled with his hands when he was nervous or over-stimulated. She misses the poetry that he wrote, the music that he gifted her, the soft tones of his voice, the way that he would call her by her full name. She misses the way that he loved how she smelled, the sharing of a sense of humour, the way he loves his daughter so much it makes him cry, the way he giggled. She misses the noises he made when he was sleeping, the way he liked her to rub his hands to make him sleepy, the ridiculously precise amount of sugar he took in his tea.

But nobody can ever know any of this. They would think that she was crazy. They would think that she needed to move on. They would think she was mad in her head.

So this continues to be her secret. If you were to see this girl walking down the street you'd see a slightly alternative looking girl with charity shop clothes wearing boots that are just a bit too big for her. She'd be staring up at the sky or down at her feet. You'll never see her looking forward because looking forward means to forget.

And she's not sure that she can, just yet.

I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Nobody needs to read this but I had to get it out of my head.

I had to change the university just before getting a degree in chemistry and I've gotten this degree eventually having defended my thesis in a Ukrainian university. Now I'm in a process of nostrification, i.e. my Ukrainian degree is to be turned into the Polish equivalent. However, there are differences between Polish degrees and Ukrainian degrees: Ukrainian "mahistr" = Polish "magister" (= M.Sc.), Ukrainian "kandydat nauk" = Polish "doktor" (mine, Ph.D.), Ukrainian "doktor" = Polish "doktor habilitowany" (there's no equivalent in English or American degree system; this needs habilitation, writing and defending a thesis).

Polish "doktor" and Ukrainian "kandydat nauk" is Ph.D. in the UK and in the US. "Kandydat" means "candidate" (quite confusing, "kandydat nauk" means "a candidate of sciences", that could easily mean "student"!). Whatever... Here's the thing: they don't want it to be a paperwork only. I have to give 40 hours of lecture at lab (8 left = 2 meetings because each time it's 4 hours) and 20 hours of seminars. There's always a person (beside assistants at labs or just she/he and me during seminars) taking notes. By the time I finish it all, the ministry will have taken a decision concerning nostrification. Now I'm asking myself - if they don't even wait for notes to be delivered and if they don't even look at them, why am I supposed to give lectures? I've never wanted to be a teaching worker at any university.

The next subject at lab is "Rearrangement reactions, ring enlargement, and annulation". I can't find anything about annulation in the textbook students are supposed to learn from and ring enlargement reactions are brushed off by this textbook! I don't even know how deep I should go into this...

i have been a member here for nine years. that is a crazy long time to pissy on a message board. and it is even crazier to think about how bluelight has become such a part of my life. and the amount of things that have changed since i first joined.

when i joined i was a junior in college. i had found the site awhile before when i first rolled and occasionally checked it when i was bored late at night. i remember reading several posts by dr. suess in TDS and deciding to register to ask a question pertaining to a friend. i was constantly amazed by that was given and i wanted to know how to be that supportive without becoming depressed myself. many of the things my friend and i discussed were things i struggled with too.

i didn't really post for awhile after that altho i still lurked. i liked life (now SO) and i occasionally posted in the lounge. i also started keeping a journal on here. around 04, i went thru a period where i questioned my relationship with my partner. there was another person creeping into the picture. BL was a place i could talk about things without fear that it would get back to my partner. he was fairly aware of what was going on but i felt weird talking to friends because almost all our friends were mutual friends at the time.

i also started posting in the lounge around that time. between posting to my journal and interacting with people in the lounge, i was beginning to know some people pretty well. in the spring of 05, someone suggested an ohio meetup. somehow i convinced my partner to drive down to columbus with me to meet my internet friends. he knew i liked to post on BL but had very little idea what it was. the meetup was pretty eclectic. after that, BL became much more of a social site.

some time after that initial meetup, i began meeting and hanging out with more BLers. at first, i kept my real life friends separate from my BL friends. but i started becoming good friends with with some BLers and they began to meet my real life friends. and some of my real life friends began posting on BL.

when i became a mod, i got sucked into the politics of BL. i don't feel like getting into that here because i think it has died down but nepotism used to be pretty rampant. and then there was all sorts of random drama because most of the BLers i knew in real life were also on staff. and at the time, it seemed like there was another group of BLers that didn't like the current group running the site.

BL really gave me a chance to develop friendships on my own. i am rather shy and don't really talk to people i don't know. i usually rely on other people to make initial contact and then i just sort of befriend whomever they are friends with. BL also gave me a chance to talk openly about my thoughts and feelings. i figured if i ever said something super embarrassing or really regretted something, i could always leave the site. once i started meeting people, i began censoring myself a little bit but i am still more open here than i am in real life.

i have learned a lot of people skills too. modding the lounge took a lot of team work and patience which wasn't something i was used to. there would be time everyone disagreed on a mater and we'd spend pages discussing it. it would have been easy to just insult the staff i didn't agree with and do what i want, but that would have looked unprofessional. instead i got good practice explaining WHY i thought something was important and leaving my emotions out of it. i also learned to distance myself from drama and not get super butthurt when someone said something i didn't like. i've found these skills to be extremely helpful at work in real life.

i've also got to interact with a very diverse group of people from posting here. people from all sorts of different countries, ages and backgrounds all interact. it is really great to get all those different perspectives in a discussion. and being so exposed to differing viewpoints, some of them far more extreme than others. there is very little one can say about themselves that will shock me. i am not sure where else i could ever have serious conversations about the merits bestiality.

thanks to the diversity here, i am pretty comfortable with myself. i still have issues with self loathing and whatnot but i at least realize my views and opinions aren't completely bizarre. BL has actually helped me accept myself, i used to post a fair bit in the nudie thread and that is usually an ego boost but i also found people are pretty accepting and don't expect you to fit into one certain identity.

Things are on track, sticking to plan. I'm not feel bad at all actually. What I'm finding is that that tinge of withdrawal, only really starts to show itself in the later evening and when I first get up in the morning. It's kind of strange in that sense, because my two daily doses are spread out pretty much exactly twelve hours apart. Yet I don't feel anything at work. It seems that supports the notion that keeping busy is so key. Just getting out of the house for whatever purpose helps a lot if I'm a bit uneasy.

Just doing basic day to day things helps keep the mind on track. I got a haircut yesterday at the local cheap hairdresser, Supercuts kind of place, and there are two people on duty, this one older lady that cut my hair once before and I hate it she basically scrapes the skin off your skull as she combs through you hair, and then some nice younger girl - I get a kick I'm reading some car magazine and just hoping, oh please finish first, pulls out the blowdrier, that means it's almost done right? But no it's a girl getting her haircut so apparantly that involves just endlessly picking up little strands and snipping off tiny bits, gotta be perfect right.. So I think I'm doomed and maybe I should go run out to the car, oh I have an important phone call to take. But I got lucky. A haircut is sort of a cheap man's massage, you can close your eyes and it's relaxing I find. I think a key to being satisfied in life is finding the interest and humour in all the mundane activities that everyone needs to do. It's all your frame of mind, but my goal is to just use my keep my mind going creatively and actively all the time, so nothing is a chore. That is an idea I have thought about a lot. Most people just whine so much about their grind, this and that, but pretty much everything is subjective and perspective counts - so with the right attitude can all sorts of boring or tedious things you need to do be interesting or even enjoyable? I want to explore that.

There's a Russian writer called Ouspensky, and I remember reading a book of his, I believe it is called "In search of the miraculous". And he talks about some exercise - just stop and focus inward for a second, sort of acknowledge your mind and thinking as seperate from the rest of the world, your life, the things you do - "remember yourself" he says. It's very powerful actually I think. I do it a lot, but I remember first reading that I kind of did what he asked and you get this sense like "I've been doing things and thinking the whole time, but it feels almost like I was on autopilot before" - It lets you step out from everything and sort of reinvigorate yourself as an individual mind, a free and creative one if you want it.

I'm a big fan of philsophy books, they can really give you inspiration and confidence. I should join some kind of book club type thing, I don't know if they have ones for different topics or if most are the kind devoted to Oprah's pick of the months, you have to be female over 35.

I'm sticking to my healthy diet plans. Skipping on any junk foods. I couldn't believe it, today I actually made a decent breakfast for the first time I can remember in a couple of years. Made lunch instead of buying it. Not such a big deal, took me like 7 minutes in the morning, yet a lot of people and me included would argue they don't have time, and then just go spend $10 on something unhealthy. It's getting cold outside now and my building doesn't have super efficient heating so it gets chilly inside - I've been drinking tons of herbal teas, to stay warm and it sort of relaxes you. They have some cool shops at the malls, I think it's a new trend in the past few years, where they sell like a hundred different types of loose teas. After longing for a high so long it almost makes me feel a high to be able to get a sense of pleasure from simple things like a drink.

Didn't get to the gym tonight. Have a few things left to tidy up and had a couple of errands to run. Tommorow for sure though, I'll be packing the gym bag tonight. I should weigh myself and make note of the sort of changes this process brings in this regards. I wouldn't be surprised if it's a lot, I easily weighed 30 lbs more when I was fit and healthy before than I do now, like 175 or so at my peak.

I think as you can see I intend to put in lots of self-indulgent bits, probably lacking in the interesting department. But it is making me feel good to express myself a bit.

It's probably 100x better than some kind of journal day after day of lurid details of the discomfort and pain mixed in with "oh god how good it would feel to use right nowwww......"

Thanks,

the past twenty four hours have been a strange recollection of memory skits thrown together under one roof. knowing grins find pace around the licks of flame burning for the humane purpose of warmth and play. a heinous half eaten circle of burnt tree remains smoldering into charred glow-blocks separated us all into sections. eyes like almonds dancing with reflection.
the roller coaster hit like diamonds with a firm twist at the end. mad schemes with little thought of the outcome. i had a bad case of the giggles and i played stringed instruments for the entertainment of others. a pair of glasses gave the entire world a sphere of prismatic light which extended greedily with heavy fingers. i cant hear you, my eyes are busy.
when the couch called i had to admit that it was inviting. finely upholstered with carved pineapples and other various fruits i couldnt readily identify. i had every mind to fall on it face first, claiming it with my passion for the back of my own lids, but i couldnt. so i made a fine racket with a peace lily. jolting the leaves with the tips of my fingers until the entire weird thing was in motion. just thinking and trying not to think while the sun climbed the mountains.

Nothing feels right.