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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 !%)

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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.

"Been Caught Stealing"

I've been caught stealing;
once when I was 5...
I enjoy stealing.
It's just as simple as that.
Well, it's just a simple fact.
When I want something,
I don't want to pay for it.

I walk right through the door.
Walk right through the door.
Hey all right! If I get by, it's mine.
Mine all mine!

My girl, she's one too.
She'll go and get her a skirt.
Stick it under her shirt.
She grabbed a razor for me.
And she did it just like that.
When she wants something,
She don't want to pay for it.

She walk right through the door.
Walk right through the door.
Hey all right! If I get by, it's mine.
Mine all mine!

We sat around the pile.
We sat and laughed.
We sat and laughed and
Waved it into the air!
And we did it just like that.
When we want something,
We don't want to pay for it.

We walk right through the door.
Walk right through the door.
Hey, all right! If I get by, it's mine,
Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine...

Just sniffed up half a naltrexone which was stupid and did nothing and I knew it would do nothing but I needed to cut and snort something because I'm trapped in my house with no drugs to abuse and going out of my mind. Wow, awesome. I have no money, car's broke, and I'm sniffing fucking naltrexone. 8)

Now I have a headache.

dear me,

i hate you sometimes. it is not easy to pinpoint one reason. i hate your negative thoughts, i hate your maladaptive coping methods, your ability to over analyze things and your desire to sabotage me when i am trying to change you.

i hate how when i want to be normal and productive, you simultaneously want me to fail. you have a low self wort/self image and take stupid risks due to your apathy. and you constantly try to convince me i am not good enough. you make me feel like the person in this hyperbole and half blog/comic. except that nothing good has come from all of this.

i want to go out with people and socialize. instead you fixate on mundane things and make me feel self conscious. like how i tried to make a joke. no one got it and you seized upon that and analyze every detail of what went wrong. to shut you up, i drink (or use drugs if i have any around). it eventually shuts you up, but generally leads to other issues. running around wasted or whacked out on g actually does make people not want to hang out with you.

this leads me to us and sleep. i like sleep, i like waking up refreshed. but you like nightmares. you like angry dreams. you like waking me up in the middle of the night with my heart racing, momentarily confused about where i am/what happened. using substances to shut you up exasperates these issues.

you can be exhausting to deal with. your constant desire to hurt yourself gets you know where. you start off wanting to hurt yourself out of anger towards yourself. then you get frustrated that you are acting like an emo tween. and then in some bizarro logic, you decide that it is actually a good idea to cause injury to yourself. all of these thoughts are playing in the background while i try to go about my day to day life. it is very tiring trying to turn you out.

your incredibly active while i try to sleep, dredging up old memories and mixing them all your fears to create horrid nightmares.

What brought me to these very forums (the irony of this will no doubt present itself later) was a thorough understanding of and a decent access to the Philadelphian drug culture and the thrills it inextricably entails.

Mirages are false but, in those recurring moments of humanity when extenuating circumstances force one onto the fulcrum balancing sanity and madness, one is particularly apt to welcome illusions with open arms. If the images are soothing, that is.

This is precisely what Bluelight was to me, then, from the beginning: a venue to explore and solidify my role in that which I mistook to be a culture of mirages. My subsequent struggle with drug abuse and addiction left me with steadfast illusions - many of which I still cherish, despite the taint that addiction forever imposes upon them. But mirages, illusions, chateaus of happiness built on wet sand, were never enough to sustain me. My hungers for excitement and for novelty were never satiated. I was... and am... both intelligent and insufferably bored.
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A number of rather drastic changes to life's comforting paradigm have arisen within the past year of my life. Not in the least, I have eased myself into the most exquisite and enduring romantic relationship of my life. We live together, breathe together, love together. In every way we allow ourselves to be bonded to one another. This fascinatingly new level of commitment, long as it may have taken to manifest itself, has forever changed my life. Former illusions have been stripped down and decidedly replaced with realism. I have never been one to welcome change less it come slowly, and meeting the demands of a dually enthralling and domestic relationship has me reevaluating my future. What my life means, especially to me, has undergone a rapid metamorphosis that only Kafka himself could contrive.

Which means that I have subjected myself forcibly to accepting these changes.

And so that which brings me back to Bluelight today has little to do with the willful acceptance of mirages, whose intrusions on my current life I repel as umbrellas do raindrops from black clouds. I finally feel a burning desire to be exempt from all of life's falsities. Drugs do not keep me coming back here; the community does. And I have begun to accept that I am in urgent need of its help. Aside from my lover, and those friends whose presence in my life has reliably diminished over the past decade, I feel interminably alone. With my thoughts, my second-guessings. Loneliness is the beetle that bores through the Tree of Life's trunk, ultimately killing it.

Thus, I am forced to ask myself several questions: Do I feel my resolve is 'dying'? Can I, with my newfound obligations, afford to let it 'die'? After spending many months contemplating such questions, my only conclusion is that to avoid a spiritual death I must violently grasp the reigns of my life and determine, without hesitation, just who it is that I am without the endeavor becoming a tragic solipsism.

My persistence has been met with lukewarm satisfaction - if any to speak of. At times I feel like the mythological figure Tantalus. I reach for my food and it moves farther from me. I reach for a drink of water and the water itself recedes into dry, brittle earth.


I worry that the struggle is tearing me apart. And I am absolutely terrified that I am alone in my plight.

~ vaya

Hot naked chick fucked in bed by lez domme Hot naked chick fucked in bed by lez domme, Mindy gets horny playing dress up in lingerie and ends up masturbating Mindy gets horny playing dress up in lingerie and ends up masturbating, Hot Smoking Fuck Slut Hot Smoking Fuck Slut

What are my desires ?

what impulse do i have ?

what repercussions are left ?

what has brought the most peace ?

what has been the most destructive - what actions were taken to resolve it: the results were: the common result was?

the common action caused by the above mentioned result is common in other ways - what are the common results in varying contexts?

what is my role ?

what do I accept as my part of this role ?

my current place now as a result??
back to the top if at conclusion it does not feel honest, or, positive one-way-or-another.

Removing Blog as my blog upset the blog gods.

I've got another long blog entry brewing but I don't think I have the energy quite yet...

Feeling slightly fragile after the weekend. God bless Debbie, she made it such a fun weekend, was so glad to hang out with her.

Anyway. I'm all disjointed and exhausted... thankfully the post-billy nonsense has dribbled out without much ado. One of the great things about my blood pressure medication is it stops the physical symptoms of panic attacks. Which billy always brought out in me.

Everything has it's upside I guess...

Chest pains. I don't know why. Is it just tender due to wayward hormones? Is it the co dydramol? My left hand hurts. Every time I go to the doctor for a bp check up they tell me I am ok. Then my diastolic shoots up. Fuck it. It's probably just stress and worry. I guess rather than stressing on the negative aspects I should try and help myself. Yoga. Reiki. Exercise. Weight loss. No booze. No powder. I can do it. And it doesn't matter what anyone thinks. I can't poison my body and mind anymore. I can elevate without it. Wish I couls stop rambling on. It's exhaustion. I am so fucking tired and I want to be free of all this negative shit... I just want music and poetry and sunrise and beaches... I want to see the beauty in life again.

Today hasn't been too bad a day. I spent the morning and most of the afternoon with my baby niece. She's amazing. I sat with her and we through bits of duplo at each other. Then I gave her some lunch and she gurgled nonsense at me. After lunch we made noises with things and I played her some guitar. I think she's going to be musical, she loved the sound of the guitar.

My back is still really bad. It's only a few steps up from what it was like when it first fucked up, I guess I should be thankful I can actually still move about fairly easily. When my back went completely I was absolutely terrified because any kind of movement caused vast amounts of pain.

I'm convinced that I need to be prescribed the valium again for my back. It's only 2g and it's an anti-spasmodic which stops it tensing up and twitching when I'm lying down which stops me from sleeping. I'm a bit gutted that Dr Struthers has left the practice as Dr Arbuckle seems a bit more traditional and I'm convinced she thinks I'm using the valium recreationally... that's not quite true, I am using it for my back, but I can't lie... the good night's sleep it gives me is wonderful. I need to call in for my repeat medication so I might see if she'll give me a fortnight's dosage to see if it helps. I had diclofenac for my back but it doesn't mix with the medication I take for my blood pressure so I've had to stop it. I'll just have to stick with ibuprofen for now. I've got some co-dydramol for night times and if I get some soluble co-codamol I can take that on week nights as it doesn't give me such a hangover the day after.

I genuinely just want a good night's sleep. At the moment I lie awake for hours... last night was terrible but I was thankful for once to be watching the TV. Dad suggested to Mum that they buy me a small tv for my Christmas. I think I'm happy with that. It will have freeview and a dvd player. I know I've looked down my nose at television for years but I am so introverted that I think I almost need a shallow escape from reality sometimes. I certainly did last night. Even if it was just watching trashy american shows.

It's my work's halloween do tomorrow night and I'm meant to be going to it. If my back carries on like this it's going to be an effort... but I guess I can leave at 11pm with Sarah if I can't handle it. I've got a pair of white fake Converse that I can put in my bag if the heels get too much.

I'm going as "Messed Up Minnie" which is basically Minnie Mouse but as a serial killer. I've got a 50's style red and white polka dot dress, net skirts to go under, Minnie Mouse ears, black patent leather heels... and Mum is going to take me to get white gloves and fake blood tomorrow. It's not the most elaborate costume but I think I'll be able to deal with it. I'm not really the costume party type. She's giving me some cash which is a relief as the meter's nearly out... I won't be drinking or anything. I'm really not feeling up to it at the moment. I've got a couple of canvases that are only half-finished. If I save as much of the £25 as I can tomorrow night then I can use the surplus to buy some food for the weekend (I have nothing in the cupboards, I have been off my food a bit due to the syndrome x issue) and in order to finish the two paintings I need some string and some copydex.

I've three paintings in the flat just now which I think are meant to be part of a trio. The first one is an 80's style angular painting, the second is kind of like a question mark and the third one looks a bit like one of the old fashioned aboriginal style hearts I used to do.

Know what's sad actually? The third one is another installation of the set I did for Cub when I was still in his life. I'm guessing he won't have them anymore seeing as he's all loved up with someone these days... I kind of wish I'd had a chance to get them back because it would have been nice to see the progression as the ones I did for him were done... god... years ago. Five years ago? Not sure. I guess I probably wouldn't have been able to keep them around. I'm surprised I've been able to mention his nickname in this blog entry... in previous I've had to change the subject. As I'm going to do now because I can feel the old familiar sting in my chest. It's a good thing he doesn't come on here anymore as he would probably recognise me from my screen name and I'd be mortified if he saw this and knew how much I was struggling with life when things have turned out so well for him. I don't know. Maybe it's karma... somewhere deep down I know that I deserve to be without him... although not for the reasons he thinks. I was just a shit person when I knew him. I never meant to be. He was my world though, and I loved him down to his bones. Ach, my heart's still blind since the day I first saw his face and that will never change. As I've said in previous posts I'm fine on my own. I was only ever in love twice and I don't think I could ever go through the pain of loving and losing someone again. It's too hard.

I'm thinking about knitting Colm and Pat a scarf each for Christmas. Pat likes Rupert the Bear and Colm hates him (thinks he's a cunt) so thought I would knit them both an old fashioned Rupert scarf for a laugh.

I really hope that Pat finds himself a nice girlfriend that will go travelling with him and that will indulge him and look after him. He reminds me of myself when I was 25... except he's that bit wiser... and a lot less spoiled than I was. I'm really glad he's a friend. One of the few that can get past my obnoxious outer shell and who knows how to talk to me. I hope nobody ever breaks his spirit because he's just decent.

I am worried about Colm though. he and Eilidh are having so many problems it's unreal and I think it's going to end in tears. Colm is probably the one person apart from Debbie that I can tell anything to and I'm worried that something bad might happen. I think I will be ok mentioning this here because it's all first names and stuff... but he called me about a year or so ago in tears at 4am because he'd self harmed. You've got to understand that Colm is a sturdy wee Belfast boy and he's been through worse shit than anything that's happened lately... although the Meniere's diagnosis didn't help things. Ever since then i get really worried that something will tip him over the edge again. I went down to see him the day after as he didn't want me to come down after he called and I was the one that cleaned up the blood and the mess. Thankfully it was ok and he didn't scar... and he's never done it again. He says he felt like an arsehole after he did it. Colm can be a bit evasive and rubbish at responding to texts sometimes but I honestly think I'd crack up if anything happened to him. When he got diagnosed with Meniere's I found him lying on his couch where he'd been for three days crying his eyes out and my heart just about cracked. I wish Eilidh could see what she's doing... and I wish she would get some help because she really needs it. She lost her Dad and she's never got over it. I know we've all got skeletons but it's affecting her and Colm's lives when they both need to move on and be happy.

I'm so stupid pouring my heart out on the internet... who the fuck am I anyway? I don't know. Nobody really listens when I scream anyway so it's better to do it somewhere that nobody knows me. My problem is that I've always been so dramatic that people just got sick of my shit and couldn't offer me support. I've alienated so much potential happiness from my life.

But as I keep saying. I'm gonna stick my chin out and I'm going to find a way to get by and be happy. I know there will never be another love affair and I'll never be the dreadlocked bohemian spirit that I've always envied and been intimidated by... but I'll always be me. I'm just a bit of everything and that's all right. All I can do is admit my mistakes, accept life for what it is, and try to live my life with no regrets and having learnt from all the mistakes I've made so far.

It's crazy. In the midst of a mithering, teary moment, my heart as always is at breaking point... but I won't give up while there's souls that can be saved... underdogs that can be fought for... words collated on pictures... and while there's music to be heard.

"It's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate, it takes guts to be gentle and kind"...