Blogs

On May 30th of this year, my son Caleb died of an overdose. I was the last person to talk to Caleb and it was I that found his body some 12 hours later. Looking back now, I realize that is a complete circle for us, mother and son, as I was also the very first person to speak to Caleb, and to experience his body as it developed within mine.

I started to record my memory of naming Caleb over in the TDS bereavement thread and someone kindly suggested that it was perhaps a blog. It makes sense as what I want to do is to record these feelings and memories in small bits; the enormity of my feelings, of a whole lifetime of love, struggle, profound connection and equally profound disconnection feels too overwhelming to even think about in one whole piece, let alone try to express.

So here is my memory #1, copied and pasted from the bereavement thread. From now on I will just post them here.

Memory:
When I was pregnant with Caleb, I was in my late thirties so I wanted to have testing to make sure everything was okay. He was our second and therefore last child (both my husband and I are big believers in zero population growth). Since we already had a son we were hoping for a daughter. As we were driving up to the city to get the test, I told my husband that I had seen a name in a children's book that I really liked if it was another boy: Caleb. As soon as I said the name, I knew right then and there that was who I was carrying. When I told my husband he said that I couldn't know, but I did. I can still remember everything about that moment. I remember the autumn light and exactly where we were on the coast highway and the way it felt like the world shifted when I said the name, to make room, to open up a space for him. From then on I talked to Caleb by name. I told him that it was true that I wanted a daughter but that I would get over it and not to worry that he was, or could ever be a disappointment to me. I made him that promise before I ever saw him and I did keep that promise. That makes me feel very good.

I just read your post in TDS and was absolutely shocked at the similarity of our experience losing a parent. Maybe it will be helpful to you, or not. Reading your post in the bereavement thread and reading a few of your big posts was very insightful to me, helping examine possible unacknowledged thoughts. I may have rambled excessively, I'll let you decide, but at least read the first paragraph. I hope anything written helps us both.

My father died October 09'. His autopsy said he died from coronary artery disease. He want in the best all around health, however, he had nothing which would have pointed to such a sudden death. He died in bed. While I was not there (I was and currently live with my mother), my twin brother was. He heard a strange sound while reading around 4am in the living room. I can only believe that this was the end. My brother was there, and heard, and gave CPR. An ambulance got there within minutes. My father had many positive things in his favor and it was still quite futile. You must accept that although you were there, the type of heart attack she likely suffered was so massive (the kind where the heart just isn't just blocked but starts fibrillating in such a way that no blood moves at all) but nothing but defibrillation, within the maximum of two minute or so, would had even the slightest chance of helping, possibly significantly less time. He was Jewish as well, and from New York. (see what I mean about parallels?)

I was awoken at around 4am to my mother telling me my father wasn't breathing. I was shocked, but at that point could still cling to a sliver of hope. My mom sure could not drive, she almost created backing out of the driveway. They put us in a 'family room' (I assume that is code for 'the room which prevents the rest of the hospital from feeling any unpleasantness.) My brother arrived about thirty minutes after us. I figured this was a good sign, if they took so long it's because there was something to take a while doing. Not true at all. At all. It was probably about fifteen more minutes until three doctors scaled through the door. This was very bad. Irrational hope about to be wiped away. More parts then I was aware existed, were instantly broken. I did not find my fathers body so I cannot relate to that, I'm sure my brother could. I spent the next hour or so crying on my fathers chest. I took of the silver chain with a silver mezuzah on it from around his neck and put it on. His blood was on it, probably from a line they inserted in his neck. I asked the person (once my closest friend), to take me home. He was the only person I called to come to the hospital. I went home. Everything moves in slow motion. I smoke a cigarette and wait to wake up from this nightmare. No such luck. I spent many weeks not eating, or eating tiny amounts. I couldn't truly do justice to the feeling penetrating me, my poor words and human ability are but adequate. I am sure you can relate. I felt guilty. My parents had just gotten back from working their second job together the night before. My father was a forensic psychologist, my mother a master social worker. I heard then walk in and him leave, I laid in bed although probably around 8pm (circadian rythm fucked). I missed the last opportunity, ever, to say something, anything, to my father. Other than that I felt no emotion. I simply was not here, no way. I wanted to feel something. I took 80mg of oxycodone. I felt absolutely nothing from an amount I most certainly should have felt. I actually was glad. I didn't want to feel good.

Sureal.

I later felt anger towards the woman my father was dating. He had been stressed out from working to jobs. He had been helping her write her doctoral dissertation. This extra stress pushed him over the top? Dunno. My mother treated her nicer than she probably deserved, including her in his memorial service like family, Later my mother later told me she had hinted at not getting any money. The next day my mother gave her a check to help with her rent at her stupidly expensive apartment, because she had taken off work to write the dissertation. WTF? Money? I'm sure my mother will never see that money she leant her, out of her own pocket. so it goes.

The memorial was on a saturday. I read the mourners prayer in English, my uncle from Brooklyn read it in Hebrew. I saw people I had not seem in many years. I later felt bad I had barely interacted with some of them. I drowned out some emotional thought by writing for days scanning family photographs. Nothing like going through old pictures long since seen to make you sob uncontrollably. I probably shed my weight in tears.

The memorial was over. Relatives left. My broken heart was all that remained. Who was I going to talk to about philosophy, personality theory, life, proofread college papers? My mom is quite intelligent, but on philosophy she is unyielding to Christianity, preventing any semblance of decent discussion. Shit, without my Dad's English degree I wondered whether I wrote A + papers or it was due to his assistance. I haven't found out. Like you I have not advanced in school. I worked for a, while but haven't worked in probably 1.5 years. I'm finally coming around to being able to continue my life, but it had taken time.

Here's where we line up with drug use due to grief and maybe not do healthy choices. Within a few months I had 50k in my account. No 21 year old should have under money when they have lost hope. I started doing any drug I could do. This was the first time I'd ever experienced stimulant psychosis. I also did phenazepam, making me say idiotic things and make life stuck for whoever had to deal with my benzoed ass.

I searched for a man who had gotten his PhD with my dad. They hadn't talked for a long time (my dad sucked at maintaining social contacts, and had a lot going on). He was head of the psychology department at a major medical school in my city. The man helped a bit, but I figured he would, my dad had really liked him, and I see why. The guy had gotten his Phd in philosophy and refused he didn't wans go there so went back for psychology. Crazy. Every time I spoke with him I was strung out on methadone.

Drugs, drugs, DRUGS.
My mom told me my drug addled mind africa were getting quite thin and told me if I continued she would ask me to move out. I was furious. I told her I would move in days. I told the psych I, was talking to, it was find. Ohhhhhhh, I wish I had been thinking clearly. Things would not be fine. I'm not sure I've ever been much more wrong.

I moved into another city about ten miles away but the ghetto. Driving up to my apartment I was greeted with a sign announcing it was a high drug area. I'd never even seen something that said that. Everyone I met was poor, and the value of life was immensely cheap with these people. I started iving heroin, I tried speedballs, I filled this shit little apartment with stupidly expensive electronics and narcotics. I started taking to a neighbor and hanging out with him. He seemed cool. He stole my pure phenazepam. He probably ingested 100 + milligrams. Probably deserved it. I lent people I barely knew money from my money pit. I can relate to your post about trying to be nice and honest, and getting fucked over for putting out my hand. Shit just got crazier. I did large qualities of drugs mainly opioids (oxy/methadone). I luckily didn't start banging them.

Some one lit my fathers car on fire in the parking lot. My last place which reminded me of him. I was super paranoid and say on my couch with a tactical shotgun ready to fire. I was arrested for traffic tickets and few thousand dollars of stuff was stolen from my apartment.

Kindly my mom let me move back in, if she hadn't, I'd be deceased. I had no more money. 50k in less than a year, nothing productive, grief blocked with drugs, and no job. This was bad. I still cried myself to sleep (this was august 2010). This stopped after a few months. I was in a safe place. Finally, I could think.

My point with my personal part if if you have not had some sort of time to evaluate your emotions while sober for two or so weeks, you should consider it. I was able to reflect deeply. I had thought that nothing really was worth doing, I'm jyst nis getting over that. I became a nihilist, which I was not even close to before. I remembered the phrase my father and I had discussed from Ecclesiastes: the vanity of vanities, ALL is vanity. This was not comforting. My Mom's Mother always told her the phrase "this too, shall pass." This sounds comforting, but is also of Jewish origin, and more deeply refers to mortality. GOD, do the Jews have any comforting phrases? I questioned my beliefs. I had professed atheism, but now consider my self more properly agnostic. Still, I pondered my Jewish heritage, my name is Ben after the Jewish tribe I descend from. Far more appealing than Christianity where some people assert, Jews, for sure go to hell.

Well last night wasn't the pain relief I thought it would be. I got maudlin on wine and had to go to bed. Woke up today feeling tired and hopeless.

Today I'm trying to get the flat tidied up and I'm going to stay at my parents house because it's Mum's birthday tomorrow and we're all going out for lunch.

I did a bit of shopping. I bought Mum an amber and silver necklace. I bought myself some nag champa incense and an indian print cotton throw for my bed. I felt faint nostalgia, I got it from the same place that I got one for Wood Street all those years ago. I wonder if it's still up there. No, I don't. I don't care and I don't want to know.

I bought a tunic dress with big floaty sleeves and a pair of brogue style shoe boots. They'll look cute if I need to look dressy.

Today's outfit was fun. Leggings, denim skirt, black top with zips on the shoulders and a big blue and grey stripey jersey. It's what I would class as a casual outfit but maybe it's still too esoteric for Galashiels. I don't know. It shouldn't matter but it does.

I'm back home now listening to Squeeze's greatest hits on vinyl. I love it. I'm listening to Cool for Cats just now. The thumping bass always makes me want to dance. To be honest I did dance. My living room window is low and looks onto the main road so I try hard not to look like an arse unless the curtains are shut. People are always looking in despite the net curtain.

I got a big canvas and a couple of small ones, and I got some more acrylic paints. The big canvas is going to be one of my primitive looking efforts. Not sure about the other two smaller ones though.

Just wish I wasn't so tinged with blues.

should not phase me anymore, but I'm pretty reliable and I expect the same from others. Maybe I'd have a lot less frustration in my life if I just ASSUMED the shit that pours out of peoples' mouths is just that: BULL - SHIT.

The only thing keeping me from going off the deep end right now is my dog, because if something happened to me, my dog would be fucked. Some days I really wish I didn't have a dog..........

Fuck it. My heart hurts. I'm so lonely. I just can't deal with people. It's so much easier to be alone. I just sometimes wish there was someone to hold me and protect me because I'm tired of being brave.

It's just me, a bottle of red, a packet of l&b and Morrissey.

And my guitar.

I could howl at the moon.

Went downtown to the courthouse to file a motion in family court for Sole Custody of my son because of his dead beat lack of good judgement dad. Damn, that sounds like I have a grudge, when really I don't. I could care less about him and I am doing this for the health and welfare of our son. Okay and somewhat safety. Long story in which I can't write out right now because I should be sleeping/napping.

Lets just say, nothing filed. Lawyer left early and 3hrs wasted I feel.

Monday I will be leaving right after I drop off Austin. Starting it first thing. Might get Sandra to drop off Austin at school. Get gone at 8:30am and be downtown for when everything opens at 9am. We'll see though.

I hope he just signs it and agrees to everything and doesn't put up a fight. I think he won't put up a fight but then again he might because Sandra is now in our life.

The Sandra aspect could cause MUNDO issues. She uses weed, she has had a child taken away by child services, former addict, mental health issues that are untreated, untreated lots of things. She has her own place BUT stays alot with us and basically lives with us. So technically doesn't live with us but we planned on moving in together next September/October and so on the document it asked if living arrangements will change in the foreseeable future. I said no. In reality it COULD change but in a way I feel like I lied because if things work out well with sandra and i we WILL be living together and really we do now too....though she h s her own place.

I dunno. Will get legal rep. to talk it over with and see what goes down.

Will update more another time.

Last night was fun, we went out with friends and went around the neighborhood for candy with spawn #2, he had a blast and got pooped out around 9pm (we left around 645pm). He got a HUGE bag of candy that SHOULD last him a couple months. Will it, OH HELL NO. It will be gone in a couple days IF we're that lucky. Surprised it wasn't mauled off last night.

Spawn #2 dressed as a Ninja, I was "Joe", and my gal was an embarrassed kitty.

One time. Thats all it was, one hit, one time. But apparently after all my experience in psychedelics, smoking weed is the one thing that can make me flip out. Ive read thats what can happen if you quit smoking and then try it again. Some people just freak out. Honest to god it was like i was on 45 mg 2C-I with the headspace of acid. Crazy CEVs. Crazy tachycardia. I llooked like a fool too. I went back to the high state where I think i know pretty much everything, so I was basically an arogant, high mess. Thats why I quit smoking weed in the first place.

It seems that one hit of a spliff caused a reawakening of the manic episode I had just spent 3 months trying to kill.

So the next day I began loading myself up on Zyprexa and got a friend to convince me to get rid of all the drugs I have. So I hand off a lot of moneys worth of RC's to another friend, and that leaves me here. Im basically trying to keep active and enjoy being sober for a while. Im even going to Charleston SC with a group from my school.

But man its so disappointing, I feel like im stuck in the same place I was 3 months ago.

My heart's been broken all these years.

In January it smashed. That month reeks of whiskey and tears.

I get by, every day I fight, but increasingly it feels like I'm existing rather than living.

I don't understand why being alone has to be so lonely.

Every now and then I feel good. Dancing round the living room with a glass of strawberry wine. Listening to a record that I love.

I think tonight I'm going to tune up my guitar, open a bottle of wine and sing my fucking heart out.

I don't think I belong anywhere or with anyone. There was a man once... but I fucked that up... he found something to erase any memory of me... I'll never be tiny or blonde or sweet faced or loveable...

Love has turned to anguish and I'm trapped in the amber of the past... slowly fossilizing... my blood hardening in my veins...

The survival instinct exists... but the heart is failing...

So in this particular entry, I will discuss my personal accounts of the drug marijuana, and the synthetic cannabinoid's which rose in popularity and use in early 2008 (in Louisiana, anyway) because of their availability as a legal alternative to marijuana, consisting of various synthetic RC's (research chemicals) sprayed or soaked into various plant matters, all of which were marketed and sold under the guise of "incense blends."

Marijuana (THC)
I first started smoking marijuana when I was 15 years old, and still do today (and will probably continue so all throughout life if possible). From the very first time I used it, I prefered it ten-fold to alcohol. It wasn't as innebriating, and I found it to synergize incredibly with my creative outletting, as well as my overall laidback persona. To this day, I have yet to find a drug which is free of consequence such as weed, especially because of all the aspects of my life it remedies, including my insomnia, anxiety, and mild-depression. Weed is one of the most versatile drugs I have used, with different strands and potencies being useful in ways another strand won't. Overall, I believe that weed is one of the most beneficial psyoactive substances that can potentially be as widely used as weed would be if it weren't illegal. The legality of weed is probably the only hazard that comes with its use. There's not really too much perspective to offer about marijuana, because I doubt there are going to be a significant amount of people who have used an array of psychedelics and other drugs, but have voided ever using weed.

Synthetic Cannabinoids (JWH-018, etc)

Synthetic cannabinoids are, for the most part, not a very accurate depiction of THC. One exception, I must say, is JWH-018, which was the original synthetic cannabinoid commonly used and sold in many countries as "incense." The first time using JWH-018, I was thrown back by how stoned I got. I got the munchies like a motherfucker, probably even worse than I would smoking some bubble-hash. Nowadays, long after the USA emergency sheduled JWH-018, most legal incenses (containing various AM-xxx, JWH-xxx, and RUA-xxx chemicals) have evolved into a much more potent and hallucinogenic-type high than weed could ever offer. Smoking these new blends, I (at first) would get so blown, that it would set off a discomfort within myself...a very sharp sensation of impending doom. After letting tolerance diminish this anxiety, I can now enjoy these blends free of all fear. It's actually pretty enjoyable, though in my opinion, it lends itself to replicate the feelings of a mild psychedelic than the miniscule hallucinogenic effects of marijuana. This is not a problem for me. Nowadays, I much prefer smoking these blends in combination with psychedelics or dissociatives, than I would with weed. My criticism of these substances is that they are not in any way, shape, or form as calming as marijuana, often repelling people (usually girls, lol) from really taking a liking to it. Also, considering a large portion of people using these blends find them to be a better alternative to experimenting with weed in the first place. This could very easily give them assumptions in which they would apply to weed, which is not only inaccurate, but unfair towards these users, because they may never try smoking weed based off of what these blends made them feel. Overall, I feel like well-versed drug users can easily digest these compounds, and may even find them more appealing than weed. On the other hand, though, these blends are not something I would recommend to inexperienced drug users, or people with anxiety issues, or heart problems (because they tend to call attention to your heartbeat when high doses are used, which is pretty dreadful if you're already paranoid about your heart because you'll be high as fuck thinking your dying....seen this happen so many times). Also, as with any research chemical, the effects of using these chemicals, especially smoking them, are unknown. Just a word of caution.

I hope this entry was somewhat interesting to some of you out there. In my next entry, I'll start to give my experience with some drugs used by a much smaller population of people! Take care!

I snorted 3 10mg oxy ir before I went to work.I didn't feel much of them for a couple of hrs I just finished in the cow shed went into my tin pulled out a ready rolled with a little b grade moroccan toked it,counted the right amount of cows into the shed, smoked another single skin spliff next thing I could feel myself going all faint.The oxy had hit me long after I thought it possibly could.I really don't know why anyone would want to take these things unless its to prevent a rattle from smack. I never tried such an unpleasant opioid in all my life. I got more but for me oxy its a last resort .Does anyone have any idea how much some one with a small heroin smoking habit could take ? I smoke heroin daily and very rarely get a much of a buzz from it I've been doing H for ten years. These days I know not to let my habit spiral but still have a good bit of tolerance to any opiate .8mg of temgesic snorted I can only just feel and no more. How many oxys could i take ? I know u Americans do them but this is a very uncommon drug in Scotland and Junkies like me just don't see them nevermind know how to do them . Cheers !%)

78789

I miss my mom. Today makes 5 years. I asked my mom's self-proclaimed "best friend" to take me to the cemetery to go visit her today and she never even responded back to me, whether it was a yes or a no. At least give me the courtesy of an answer. A "no" would be better than fucking nothing. I asked her on the 23rd of October so it's not like I sprang it up on her or anything. Plus she offered to take me whenever I wanted. I live in the Bronx, practically in Yonkers, and the cemetery is in Staten Island. If I left at 9am, I might make it before the cemetery closes. It's a Jewish cemetery so of course the hours and stuff are weird. I'd literally have to take 2 trains, a ferry and 2 buses. I know that nobody has any damn obligation to me for anything but I feel like if the shoe was on the other foot, I'd help people out as much as I could. And if I couldn't do it, I certainly wouldn't offer to do it with no intention of ever doing it.

Over the years, I've learned to never believe anyone when they say they're going to do something as a favor for me. Why the fuck do people say this shit to me? "Oh, call me any time." "If you need something, just ask!" It's not like I'm asking you to move Mt. Everest -- I'm asking for a fucking ride. I don't drive. So don't offer shit you're never gonna do. It just makes you look like the fucking drunk bitch you are.

One year, she called me while drunk and basically told me I killed my mother and whispered "Red-rum, red-rum" ... I kept the voice mail and I was going to send it to her husband, who is much nicer, to see the kind of woman he married. But the poor guy has enough bullshit to go through with his triple-bypass surgery and it would be just as petty as her. I don't want to stoop to her level. I'm fucking half her age, the god awful bitch. She obviously has no care for anyone else but herself. Somehow she feels as though her loss was greater than mine. Right. A person who you barely see, maybe every 2 years, versus a Mother. Which loss is greater? Obviously hers, because it's Karen's world and I only live in it. Fucking bitch.

Fuck it. I don't need anyone's help. People always tell me how generous I am and how they want to repay me for all I've done for them and shit but it's all bullshit. I don't want to become a cold-hearted bitch but apparently it's the only way to not get fucked over. Fuck it all. I'll never ask anyone for a favor ever again. Or take people up on their offers of favors. Because it's just bullshit, each and every time. Talk is fucking cheap. Just don't fucking offer something you're never gonna go through with. That's it. The end. Is it really that hard??? I suppose it is because it keeps happening. I'm finding out who is truly my friend and who is only around when I have money or drugs or whatever else that can be sucked dry from me.

Maybe I'm just being a big fucking baby about it all. Maybe that's just what people do in polite society. Offer to do something nice for no good god damn reason other than to make themselves feel like altruistic people. But they aren't anything of the sort. Just assholes full of wind and nothing more.

Maybe my grief is just coming through as anger. Who knows, really. I should get in the fucking shower. I have to go pick up the only things that don't let me down.

Hello, thank you for stumbling onto my blog. The purpose of this entry is to elaborate a little bit in regards to my background, and overall direction/goals I'd like to achieve with my blog. For starter's, I'll give a little background about myself...

I am a male in my early twenties, who since my early childhood, has always been very easily intrigued. I would consider myself to have a one-track mind. My headspace is typically pretty clouded, though upon finding certain stimuli, become very focused and motivated. This has ranged from my early childhood, where I was so intrigued by dinosaur's, that I was able to tell you almost any dinosaur's name, at the age fo 3 years old. When I was about 10 years old, music became my focus, and I had a huge collection of instruments and effect pedals, just to see how drastically I could manipulate and create sounds. Music, of course, still rings heavily throughout my focus and motivation nowadays, though around 17-18 years old, drugs (mostly empathogens, psychedelics, and dissociatives) drastically peaked my interest. It amazed me to feel the incredible depth of pleasure and altering of my inner perception which drugs could deliver. Standing here today, I have experimented with over 55 different psyoactive substances, and plan to keep adding new chemicals to the inventory as time presses on. Due to self-sought prioritization, I don't experiment as heavily or recklessly as I used to, but a curious mind such as mine can't just shut itself away from something of which its interest is peaked. So at this point, you're probably wondering why I'm using this blog...

I became inspired to use a blog probably about a week ago. A good, long-time friend and I were having the typical heated-debate about life, purpose, and soforth, when he delcared an interesting perspective. If I'm going to use these substances, why not do so for the education of the public? If I'm going to use these substances, I must leave a record, not only for the sake of self-preservation, but so when I leave this physical earth, my experience doesn't leave with me. Because to do so, I'd be using these substances in vain...just to get fucked up.

So that's what the point is! My hope and goal is to leave behind as many thorough and valuable accounts of the substances I have used, to give legitimacy to their purpose in my personal development, as well as deliver a source of insight to these substances for the entire world. So there it is, folks! If you happen to stumble upon this, please stay-tuned, for I will begin to give my personal accounts of:




Thanks for reading! Stay Tuned! :D

My boyfriend and I broke up on my birthday last week, because he'd been acting like a total asshole to me and overanalyzing everything that I do and accusing me of cheating on him, which I wouldn't do, but anyways. And he was also being so paranoid - several nights he stood at the door with a knife for a couple hours, convinced that people had followed him home and were out to get him. Just crazy, fucked shit.

He just texted me today explaining that the reason he's been so paranoid, delusional, and overanalytical is because he's been getting fucked up on speed again for the past couple weeks because he's been stressed out of his mind.

He used to be severely addicted to speed and GHB, and then finally quit it a month after we started dating, which I was proud of him for. Then a few months later, he admitted to having done it again, but said that he wouldn't be addicted to it again - it was just something he'd do now and then to keep him awake. I was like whatever.. so long as he isn't doing it all the time, I guess it's okay..

And I thought he had been being honest with me, because for the past month, every once in a while he'd say that he'd done a bit of speed. He never told me that he was actually doing it all the time, and somehow I never even noticed that he was doing it again. I had been kind of suspicious though, because he'd make all this money and then it'd all somehow disappear. And his behavior was really strange.

Now, fuck. Like what do I say to that? He's basically saying that everything was destroyed because of his stupid fucking addiction to speed. I actually don't even love him anymore because of all the shit he did to me the past week. He was literally acting like a fucking psycho. So our relationship is pretty much doomed, because there's a lot of anger still in my system. And even though I feel really bad for him, because he's struggled with addiction all his life - heroin, cocaine, ghb, speed, meth - I'm still mad that he'd do this to himself and hide it from me when I tried to help him with his addiction issues and stress. I knew that if he was stressed he was going to do speed and G again, so I tried to relieve that stress, but I guess it wasn't good enough.

And I'm still in love with an ex, who I've loved for a year by now, even after all the bullshit we've went through. Though I loved my most recent ex, I still kept on these feelings for the other man, which kind of fucks with my head. I don't know.

I just don't know what to say or do now. It really explains everything..
I can't do this..

Ok I have been on this site for like the past 2 hours posting and giving my 2 cents in posting-wise! Why can I not see what the hell my inebriated ass has been saying for the last 2 hours!?

lol Come on guys.........I come up with a lot of my shit on the fly and when I post I expect it to POST goddamn it!!! >(

Sometimes, when watching Fox News or some particularly disgusting political diatribe I slap myself in the forehead and actually pray that a comet/meteorite strike this wicked world. Purge it of the sorry lifeforms that should be evolving, but focus time and energy into dick pills and subliminal marketing tactics.

But I fear that if a disaster like the one I often call for should happen, the doomed would have nowhere to go and that the filthy swine would have their bunkers and it would play out like some weird scene from Dr.Strangelove.

Would that be life I wonder? Stuck in some bunker with people like the Queen of England, Billy Graham, or Geraldo Rivera? And should they be stuck for 100's of years wtf would their offspring produce? Wow that could make for an excellent B Movie lol

one at a time, take the time to become fully aware of what each of the 51 Contemplations means to you - taking how ever much time as needed to answer. many of the "lines" as you may notice do go together, this was done to aid in translation and cohesiveness, so some might need to be re-combined to make more sense.

The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali
The Threads of Union
Translation by BonGiovanni
1. on Contemplations
~

Before beginning any spiritual text it is customary to clear the mind of all distracting thoughts, to calm the breath and to purify the heart.

1.1 Now, instruction in Union.

1.2. Union is restraining the thought-streams natural to the mind.

1.3. Then the seer dwells in his own nature.

1.4. Otherwise he is of the same form as the thought-streams.

1.5. The thought-streams are five-fold, painful and not painful.

1.6. Right knowledge, wrong knowledge, fancy, sleep and memory.

1.7. Right knowledge is inference, tradition and genuine cognition.

1.8. Wrong knowledge is false, illusory, erroneous beliefs or notions.

1.9. Fancy is following after word-knowledge empty of substance.

1.10. Deep sleep is the modification of the mind which has for its substratum nothingness.

1.11. Memory is not allowing mental impressions to escape.

1.12. These thought-streams are controlled by practice and non-attachment.

1.13. Practice is the effort to secure steadiness.

1.14. This practice becomes well-grounded when continued with reverent devotion and without interruption over a long period of time.

1.15. Desirelessness towards the seen and the unseen gives the consciousness of mastery.

1.16. This is signified by an indifference to the three attributes, due to knowledge of the Indweller.

1.17. Cognitive meditation is accompanied by reasoning, discrimination, bliss and the sense of 'I am.'

1.18. There is another meditation which is attained by the practice of alert mental suspension until only subtle impressions remain.

1.19. For those beings who are formless and for those beings who are merged in unitive consciousness, the world is the cause.

1.20. For others, clarity is preceded by faith, energy, memory and equalminded contemplation.

1.21. Equalminded contemplation is nearest to those whose desire is most ardent.

1.22. There is further distinction on account of the mild, moderate or intense means employed.

1.23. Or by surrender to God.

1.24. God is a particular yet universal indweller, untouched by afflictions, actions, impressions and their results.

1.25. In God, the seed of omniscience is unsurpassed.

1.26. Not being conditioned by time, God is the teacher of even the ancients.

1.27. God's voice is Om.

1.28. The repetition of Om should be made with an understanding of its meaning.

1.29. From that is gained introspection and also the disappearance of obstacles.

1.30. Disease, inertia, doubt, lack of enthusiasm, laziness, sensuality, mind-wandering, missing the point, instability- these distractions of the mind are the obstacles.

1.31. Pain, despair, nervousness, and disordered inspiration and expiration are co-existent with these obstacles.

1.32. For the prevention of the obstacles, one truth should be practiced constantly.

1.33. By cultivating friendliness towards happiness and compassion towards misery, gladness towards virtue and indifference towards vice, the mind becomes pure.

1.34. Optionally, mental equanimity may be gained by the even expulsion and retention of energy.

1.35. Or activity of the higher senses causes mental steadiness.

1.36. Or the state of sorrowless Light.

1.37. Or the mind taking as an object of concentration those who are freed of compulsion.

1.38. Or depending on the knowledge of dreams and sleep.

1.39. Or by meditation as desired.

1.40. The mastery of one in Union extends from the finest atomic particle to the greatest infinity.

1.41. When the agitations of the mind are under control, the mind becomes like a transparent crystal and has the power of becoming whatever form is presented. knower, act of knowing, or what is known.

1.42. The argumentative condition is the confused mixing of the word, its right meaning, and knowledge.

1.43. When the memory is purified and the mind shines forth as the object alone, it is called non-argumentative.

1.44. In this way the meditative and the ultra-meditative having the subtle for their objects are also described.

1.45. The province of the subtle terminates with pure matter that has no pattern or distinguishing mark.

1.46. These constitute seeded contemplations.

1.47. On attaining the purity of the ultra-meditative state there is the pure flow of spiritual consciousness.

1.48. Therein is the faculty of supreme wisdom.

1.49. The wisdom obtained in the higher states of consciousness is different from that obtained by inference and testimony as it refers to particulars.

1.50. The habitual pattern of thought stands in the way of other impressions.

1.51. With the suppression of even that through the suspension of all modifications of the mind, contemplation without seed is attained.

End Part One

At a rave the other night I stumbled across an interested combo of drugs all in one dose. According to the dealer it was LSD, MDMA, and opium. It came in kind of a blue glob, almost looked like chewing gum except it was harder, not as sticky and tasted awful. Has anyone experienced this combo in this form?

BTW the high off this substance was excellent, although it woulda been better if I hadn't been awake on dexedrine the previous two days.

It's easy to get lost in the bad times and believe that they're never going to end. Then, it's easy to think that the only way out is to stay stupefied or commit suicide. The mind is a very powerful thing. What's worse, sometimes its pistons fire in the wrong sequence with a lot of force. It's the price some of us have to pay to retain our individuality.

Twenty-seven years and I've noticed that the life cycles of the best in breed were not meant to go much further than this. Some historian was trying to rationalize why rap stars behave the way they do, and he came to the conclusion that a lot of those men and women grew up in an environment where the life expectancy didn't go past age 25 without the threat of death, prison, or total societal marginalization. Therefore, they treat those statistically unlikely years where they suddenly find themselves wealthy and popular like bonus years. I've been much more privileged than these people, but, like many members of this board, my mind has been a formidable and lethal opponent to my well-being.

Up until very recently, I had a hard time understanding why life was worth living. The problem was that I had a hard childhood characterized by some messed up stuff that I'll probably never even tell Bluelight about, followed immediately by years and years of drug use which functioned as a blindfold for my mind. As some of you have no doubt guessed, this left me in a developmental limbo. Stuck at age 17 with a disdain for people whose emotional development seemed to place them in an effortless sprint to cross all of life's pleasant checkpoints.

Now, however, after being clean for just 2 months, I've been riding the bus around the city, enjoying people, and realizing that it was not the world that ever rejected me; it was I who rejected the world. I'm privileged to live in a huge international city filled with the best food from all around the world, and my girlfriend has finally obtained a visa to come to the united States and stay here. She had to leave the country six months ago, but now we've got our tax ID situation fixed and are ready to start working on our goal together: a restaurant called "Enchilada House" which will feature hand-crafted enchilada's from every different region in Latin America. We've been trying to fix her right to live here for 3 years, and I never talked about it on Bluelight because it was a complicated court case that I didn't want to fuck up. But now we're bulletproof. just in time, too, because my creditors were closing in for the kill with some pretty serious lawsuits. Now, though, I can honestly say that I'm on the right track to giving them back all the money I owe. And thank God this is America - the banks are going to turn around and act like none of this shit ever happened because they don't give a shit about right and wrong; they just care about money. Chase, Bank of America, TDAmeritrade, Wells Fargo, et. al. better get their fucking red carpets ready, because I'm back motherfuckers and I've got a strong partner with me this time!

And I'm going to do it right this time, because you know what they say: "One day you're here, the next day you're gone." I owe it to all the people who have fallen in the struggle with addiction and depression to get out and own the arena, if for nothing else than to show that we can do it too.

what a weekend...

friday night, i went to pick up my lady in the city for dinner, and oh do i loathe going into the city. i rarely leave brooklyn anymore. its so comfy having everything i need in my daily life within a few train sotps, and never having to go into that atmosphere in manhattan. whenever someone from the city comes to visit brooklyn, the first thing they always comment on is how serene the air feels, how calm the energy is (relative to the city, of course). but I had to head in for the first time in maybe a month on friday. union square at 8pm on a friday evening is pretty packed. the 4 train platform practically had people falling over the edge. it pays to be a skinny guy who can slither through a crowd to the front, or so i thought.

i board the train car, and feel a hand on my back pushing me in. i turn over my shoulder and stare the man down, almost warning him with my face that im not fond of his touching my backpack. this surly, tall, 40-something, out of shape, peaceful grandpa faced blackman is staring back at me, smiling, and says, "dont worry you wil fit on." I only have one stop to go, and though I feel the 456 line in nyc has the shittiest people in creation on it at all times (or so it seems), i bite my tounge and ignore him.

he needed more, so he continues, "i know youre in a rush, since you hit me with your backpack and all."

i reply, "its a bit crowded" and look at him as though he were rediculous. he continues smiling.

he says, "its ok, its jut really rude to hit someone with your backpack when youre trying to cut in front of them to get on the train."

i reply "i wasnt trying to hit anyone with it, and there was plenty of room where i stood, wasnt cutting anyone." this time i stare into his eyes hard, trying to show him there is a bit of a psycho underneath these glasses, and fear is something that was beaten out of me long ago.

he smiles bigger and says, "its ok, i dont argue with my brother."

now, i was just in a terrible mood, and let my emotions get the best of me. it could have stopped right there. fuck the city, and fuck the 4 train.

"youre arguing with me now." i said.

"i said i dont argue with my brother," he says, his smile turning into a very solemn face.

i looked back calmly and stared him down again, "sounds a lot like arguing to me."

"you going to argue with a man with his heat? huh? cuz this is why i dont argue, i just lay a motherfucker out. you wanna get shot?"

"are you threatening me?" i asked, not phased by any of it, my right hand, out of site, forming an eagle's claw ready to crush his larynx if he makes anything resembling an aggressive gesture. i was contemplating kneeing him in the balls and slamming his throat hard, possibly backfisting his temple if he was still standing. dont fucking threaten my life, asshole. were about 1 foot away from each other and thats right in my kill zone, something tells me his blackness aint gonna take me out in that tight of a space.

just then he pulls a part of his shirt up, and i see a plastic bag shoved in his pants, with something very rectangular, black, and metal in it.

"ya you still tryin to argue with me now? you better watch out who you bump into." he says, almost giggling maniacally, as though he is really enjoying the thought of pulling out a pistol and shooting me and possibly 2-3 others on this extremely, extremely crowded train.

so two thoughts entered my mind. i could pin his right arm to the subway car wall, and stab him in the eyes with two of my fingers, most likely blinding him (if anything, for a good 15 mins or so). not much room to move back and do any heavy hitting, so i probably have to go with an elbow - face and knee- groin follow up, problem is, he looked like some tough as nails south bronx motherfucker, and if i failed any technique, im probably getting shot, or at least some bystander is. one of these blond ladies in their thousands of dollars fur coats,
or one of these briefcase brigade suited eichmanns to my left. ive also got enough stitches in my head, and other random wounds, to remind me of past times when my irish mouth ate its own words. in one part of my mind, i hear my teacher screaming, "no one gets the last word, you get the last word, no one gets free hits, you do the hitting" and in the other part of my mind, i hear the same man laughing at my ignorance and saying "ya know, how many times have i told you why i always carry a dummy wallet in my front pocket?"

i stared at the floor. at the time posted on the digital clock in the car. he chuckled to himself, "have a nice day." i boiled inside. my hands wanted to feel flesh tear and my feet wanted to feel bones crunch. we hit grand central, and i spent about 10 mins watching the crowd to see if i was being followed. i snapped at my girlfriend like an irrational prick, it took a long time to calm down.

the next night, we went to this killer rave in brooklyn. it felt like 2003, was so nice. the market has been real tough here lately, but molly was abound, and i indulged way, way too much. i wasnt planning on running into any M at all, so before i left my house, i dropped a blotter. i dont like tripping at raves, but i hate being drunk more. took 2 shots of jameson when i got there, and figured thatd be all the inebriation id have for the evening. my girlfriend is one sexy little vixen, so i sent her out to flirt with some boys and see what cool party favors she could score. about an hour later she found me, stuck her finger in my mouth, and said taste this, what do you think? hot damn that was the most sour tasting molly ive had in my mouth for almost an entire year! we both dropped a capsule and it fucking rocked my world. frankie bones tore shit up on the decks, and dara had a set that left my head ringing. my girl managed to slither through a cuddle puddle and score a nice contact and 5 more beans for us. we were thinking about trying to lure one of the hired dancers back home with us and our stash of love pills, especially this one that gave me a personal show, had such a phat ass. Theres little my lady and I like more, most of the time I think she loves women more than I do. But it had been forever since I had rolled, and while I was feeling quite lusty, I felt like such a little loverboy. I just wanted her alone all to myself, and insisted we leave the party right then. I couldnt wait to get home and kiss her sweet face all over and tell her how much I love her.

We get on the train, and this one real ghetto thug is just screaming at this poor old skinny black dude. Yellin "whut? whut? you think im kiddin? i aint fuckin kiddin." The older man buried his face and tried to submit as best he could, just to make the pirate go away. I acted like I wasnt watching, and shifted my weight to my opposite leg. The energy in the car was nasty, dark, everyone was freaked out. This guy was screaming his lungs out at nothing, babbling, making no sense. He either just finished a night long crack binge, or was on PCP. I suspect the dust. He starts screaming in this little white hipster dude's face, telling him his costume sucked. The guy was petrified. It was tough to watch. Then he finds 2 "bitches" and lays into them, dehumanizing them with his words. The whole car looked on, freaking out. My girlfriend can catch any man's attention in a heartbeat, so I moved her to the next car, and I stood in the doorway watching on. This guy was nasty, fierce, but was not looking all that healthy, more scrawny than anything, I could probably break his ribs in one shot. I turned my hat down low and acted oblivious, but watched every single jerking motion of his body.

Some old man was walking through the car asking for change. He could barely stand up. He was hobbling through holding onto the railing, I thought he was going to keel over. Then he does. He gets down on one knee and grabs his chest. My girl yells "oh my god that man is having a heart attack and no one is doing anything in that car." No one was - they were all freaking out about angry angeldust dude. We move back into the car to assist the man, and in that exact moment, the dusted dude starts punching this chick in the face, screaming something about her being a nasty bitch. The train was stopped with doors open, and ppl started running out of the car. The old man was face down. I raced up behind this crazy asshole and was totally ready to just slam my knuckles into the back of his skull, knock him flat out in one hit (if that diddnt work I was just going to crush his knee cap with my foot anyways, punk diddnt even see me coming).

I diddnt have to do anything. This other guy jumped into the middle, and the dusted dude starts swinging at him. Except he swings like a 7 year old girl! Anyone could have just swatted his fists out of the way and knocked him on his ass, I totally expected the girl and guy both to get mauled. It was actually really fucking funny. The dude defending his girl socked him in the stomach real good, and sent him screaming retreating back into the train car. The conductor must have caught wind, and called the cops, cuz the train breaks went on and doors locked open.

I felt pretty sick. I just watched an old homeless man die, and some psychotic thug punch a girl in the face right next to it. Needless to say this put a damper on the mood, and the two of us spent the rest of the evening deeply brooding it. Neighborhoods are getting worse. Cops are getting corrupt (had to kick 2 out of my building last week for snooping through apartments illegally). People are getting poorer, hungrier, and angrier. The tensions is rising everywhere.

Old New York is on its way back.

When things get bad, just think about how worse they could have been. Count your blessings, I know it's redundant but it's true. If you have the ability to cope with it, then it isn't that bad because eventually it will all be behind you in a place where you no longer let it affect you. Letting things hurt you means that you've let them won. It's something I've only recently learned to do, and it has literally made all the difference in the world for me.

im new to blew light but swim was wondering if swim could receive a small amount of codeine cough syrup by mail through a friend without repercussion

So today was pretty interesting. It started at 9am when I first woke up and heard a dog barking now I live in a dorm so it was a little odd, but I didnt think much of it at first. So 15 minutes later I actually got up to get my shower I still heard the damn thing barking I was like thats odd, so I peek out my blinds and what do I see? I see a big ass german shepard and a bunch of K9 police cars OH FUCK they are searching the dorms for drugs! Now my adrenaline just spiked I know that they have been here for a bit because I heard them before I rolled back over to sleep meaning I probably only have a matter of moments before I got to start eating bud or take other drastic measures.

So I throw my bud into my backpack put on some clothes and a hat and head out the door into the hall. Now I live on the second floor so I got three options to get out 2 stairwells and the elevator. I head to the first stairwell enter it look down and through the glass door outside I see a german shepard about to walk into the building, I quikly turn around and head to the next closest escape, the elevator, I press the button and wait. Now our elevator is really really slow so I can hear it coming I can also hear Men talking in it and they dont sound like students So im thinking getting on an elevator with these Dbags is like worst case scenerio, so I turn and walk away towards the last stairway at this point im thinking I may be cooked trying to decide if I should just walk right by the dog if I have too. About this time I hear the elevator open behind me and a dog not on a leash comes out around the corner but the cop quickly calls the dog and I walk faster not daring to look back.

Hours pass my heart is going full speed fight or flight all that stuff is in full motion im freaking the fuck out I cant get arested not like this. I finally reach the final stairway open the door look down, nothings there so I walk down expecting a cop to be outside waiting to ambush me. I push open the door cold air in my face there is a cop 50 yards way to my left I turn right and leave the courtyard unopposed. I got away stashed my shit off campus and went back to my dorm to get ready for class.

Now I feel violated what a bunch of bullshit I pay these people to live here and in return they call in the police to try and arrest me wtf is that? I got really lucky had I not had that class at that time if the dogs had come in 5 minutes sooner any nimber of things I would have gotten arrested. I tried to warn everyone else I knew threw text message but a few people got arrested anyway. Im fuckin pissed I am going to do everything I can to get an apartment off campus and as soon as I do im going to start an SSDP chapter at this school. The worst thing about it is now I dont feel safe here I am not sure how I will sleep tonight.