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Well where to begin.
Where does it begin where does it end, whose your real friend, at the same place again. I remember it came to me one time at the young age of 14 just beginning to realize the path that i was already set on althought i was only beginning to see it. it came in a dream and said "No End--No Beginning" and i wrote it down in a dream state aka-some kind of drug haze that i dont remember wat it was.

Sometimes I feel so tired of this circle , like i been here 1000 years doomed to repeat over and over one day after the next, same game different name. I can remember to the first time i was introducted to my one tru love, fast forward rewind like it was yesterday, the feeling of anticipation in the air as i cruised thru unfamiliar territory while the sun light began to heat up that hot summer day, zig zag waves of distorted air rippling up over the sidewalk like it was cookin somethin, scene hazy and shimmering like the middle of the hood was the promised land.

Or fast forward to 19. Clean, happy, drinkin hennesey and tanqueray and puffin L's barely a thought of those little folded papers in my mind after I said i let it go. I was 19, and all of a sudden....wat happened? Here I am about to turn 22, cold n old n blue, wat to do?

I been in the places that feels like i have crawled to the bottom of the under belly of my soul. places no person should ever have to go. places that the numbness kept me from processin in my mind, broken stoned n out of time....scrapin the bottom and wantin nothin but to fall further still. I am young but i feel like i been since the beginning of time. when some galaxy far away exploded and a little piece of me shot thru space somehow landing on a green and blue mass called earth like the dinosaurs are in my bones and my mind knows more than i think i know.

I travel thru my mind all the time plottin thinkin, nickels n dimes, fearin the darkness of wat i might find, knowin my fate was sealed as soon as i took that turn, smoked the first crack hit got my first mouth burn. time stands still when i pass that folded bill, the ticket to salvation internal medication. A silent red rose blooms in a golden sky. whose worried now? Na not I. I hold it steady....Am I ready? Of course, i think, as I hit a home run...far past the crowds....far past the sun, im heaven and hell all rolled into one, dont know if its ended or just begun. I can fall n fall and still it aint enough, retreatin deeper lower slower , put to sleep by a ghetto lullaby thinkin how far did i come. i just want to rest my bones a minute. too bad i didnt think of that before i did it, before i hit it, couldnt quit it.....

I feel like im the moment , or like i am eternal, cant pick which and I aint sure when i make that switch. im the steam of your breath while you take that long walk to cop, block by block, in the cold with the knowledge of wat waits for you burnin in your soul. and i am the street you walk, walked by a thousand before you and a thousand more once you are gone i live on.

But wait I had somethin else to say. and it died in my throat as i faded away.

I dont always live in the imaginary. I see the cold world just like any. I see the clock just like you, another hour, the wait is thru, i pray for the strenth to pass another day, as I plan just one more time how Ima shoot my life away.

you speak n i dont hear you I am too far gone, where the darkness is velvet and the silence is warm, i live for that moment i feel my heart drop, my eyelids fall shut and everything stops. I know its all lies but proudley I stand. I know they cant catch me nobody can. I play the game just as good as the next did as I skip thru the garbage and sadness and wreckage. This is my life I think. thats it this is me. and the warm rush of emptiness is all that I see.

I imagine it all while i go thru the motions. preparin my potion, my ointment, soul lotion. A single tear droppin like rain down my window pane, into the cooker and into my vein.

Of all the thousand ways to tease and please....why is it that Im always dreamin dreams of disease.

hello im looking for some advice i take dhydrocodeine 30 gs tablets 300 mg a time with 10 mg diazepam and three cyclizine 50 mg tablets to lift mood un chill out my query is i also take MST-CONTINUOS tablets 10 mg 2 times a day been on these about 4 months only take the prescribed dose 2 a day take more of the dhydrocodeine than prescribed but my question is this how many mst 10 mg tablets would i need 2 take to chill like i do with DHC 30 mg tablets if so better if possible and also could i use cyclizine and diazepam with these like with DHC and at which dosage?I have been taking 100mgs at least of codeine for 2 years any advice would be most appreciated thankyou

I'm a dumpster diver. I've found a good part of my wardrobe in the trash or in boxes along the roadside. A while ago, in fact, I found the piece of clothing that would be the genesis of today's mis-adventure. It is a black T-shirt with a Kope Luwak logo and a picture of a spotted civet cat pooping out coffee beans into a cup. "Good to the last dropping" is the caption. The meaning remained a mystery until somebody stopped me on the sidewalk and asked me if I'd ever had kope luwak. I hadn't yet bothered to look up the meaning of those words so the stranger obliged: Wild civet cats on an island in indonesia eat coffee beans and then poop them out. Farmers gatehr the beans and use them to brew coffee. Hmmm, sounds interesting. I asked him where I could get some. He didn't know. Just not here. Intrigued, I began seeking it out. No luck finding anybody who sells in the Bay Area, but I found one place in Portland where I am now staying. Legare's.

Putting the rest of this one in NSFW tags due to scatological references.

Abstract photo...

Dear Bluelight,

I am alive. Bored, but alive. I am sane again, and am doing as well as expected.

Finally, I am getting new glasses and will begin driving again. Florida is ridiculously docile as far as night life goes. Don't want to wake grandma... And you can't get anywhere without a car. I miss Boulder, immensely. I miss the parties, The Beta (my stomping grounds of glamor), and the over-all relaxed and considerate nature of my friends and comrades.

I am uncertain to whether it is the sun, the water, the limestone, or other explanation to which the social nature of Floridian folks is down right retarded. I have had few intellectually challenging conversations outside of my mother (a member of Mensa) and a few polka dotted occurrences at random.

I am a bit of a prisoner at my parents home. No where to go, to be, and lackage of transportational opportunity (one car 4 people). I have one friend, locally, which when he has off from work we get f00bared on oc, roxy, ish or whatever.. decent, but not sustainable nor something i do every week. Projectile vomit from over-doing it has be noted, and should be avoided. I am not one that likes to stealth vomit, nor explain why the washer is running at 4 in the morning. Thankfully, there are lots of canals, and make excellent puking receptacles. Temporary temperance to my bordem, hopefully my financial aid appeal will be approved so I can continue my degrees in january. I am not certain what I would do if I am not approved...This deeply concerns me, as I have learned much, gained perspective and numerous insight to the last two years.

All I got is time on my hands, which lends itself to heaviness of thoughts, and realizing my sadness. Tons of self criticism and seeing how I could have avoided my mistakes or not... you know what I mean.

I really need positive things in my life right now, and pray my 2 page Reinstate-me requiem, ergo; I am way more awesome now and have my shit together and wont screw up again because I am no longer in a messy relationship and finally have a plan while actually growing the fuck up -paper to the appeals board is approved

It's a shame that it's come to this. Secretly, for the past 4 months or so, I've been posting to Bluelight with nothing but a Blackberry. Posts containing multiple pictures had to be relayed to MS Office first because of the difficulty of having multiple tabs on Blackberry's browser. This problem is fixed with Opera Mini, but Opera mini's cursor is just impossible to control without getting very frustrated.

Anywho, I used to have an awesome pc. Awesome. Awesome monitor, too. I had over a terabyte worth of total hard drive space on two 7200 rpm drives, 8 gb of ram, an ATI HD card that could run anything you threw at it at ridiculous resolutions, m-audio midi controllers for sound production (2). Basically, my computer was an erection that could be controlled with a keyboard and mouse. Also, I had an awesome Asus laptop that I would often use at the same time.

So, I decided that it would be a good idea to sell all of those things for less than $700 total in order to buy a few weeks worth of pills. At the time, it was a fantastic decision.

Now I realize that I am too irresponsible to have nice things. So instead of trying to recreate my old system, I bought a used HP pc with a monitor from a guy who was using it as his workstation at HP. It has a P4 2.8, 1.75 gb, 40 gb hdd, internal graphicsn 3 pci slots - no agp, and a 15 inch lcd monitor running xp pro.

Because I'm limited in my upgrades due to almost everything about this computer, I am getting a pci firewire card, a multi-card reader that plugs into a usb slot, a geforce pci card with dual vga, and an extra set of usb ports via a pci card. That eats up all three of my pci slots. Regarding rebuilding a sound station to replace my old one, I opted not to use one of the pci slots for a soundcard because I will be able to get an external firewire card since I'm installing firewire ports.

Cigarettes. We all know about them. We all know about the negative health risks and we all know how much society hates it. But, why? is the question. What was once socially acceptable, even encouraged only as little as 50 years ago has turned southbound. It's now an "abomination", and "disgraceful", and even "unethical" to smoke cigarettes in the 2000s. And sure, we're partially on the right track, I'm not saying every man, woman, and child should start lighting up Kent's filterless, 2 pack a day habit; that would be disastrous of major proportions, and I am by no means advocating the smoking of Cigarettes. It's a decision you yourself have to make. Anyways, with that being said, lets get to the point. What I'm trying to say is, in this time focused around existentialism, freedom, and the focus of the individual, cigarette smokers have more pressure, and are almost as stigmatized as the archetypal Caucasian bourgeois Father figure (for the lulz). The Western world love it's decadent individualism, they wanna stand out and live their life like they're in control! And ah-salute! God bless you, that's fine! But what about the smokers? Why is it, that, every time someone mentions cigarettes some jerk off has to say "cigarettes kill bro, you're gonna get lung cancer, and aids, and diabetes, and hepatitis C if you keep smoking, man" right.....as if....as if I didn't already know that! Tell me one more time, the message wasn't quite clear the first 10000 times.

Smokers are labeled as reckless, bored, stressed out, unclean, disregard for hygiene, dissonant, weak at making independent decisions, etc, et cetera! Not to mention they blow the whole lung cancer thing into your face. It's like the uncultivated heads of those who are hard for the normative-ethical ways are laughing at the cigarette smokers. But what's hilariously ironic is that all those bored determinists have their own vice, and their own deficiency. It's immoral to devalue a human being based on their vice, and even worse than to make them feel ashamed for it.

We as humans have always hated a particular. The Puritans hated homosexuals, the KKK hated blacks, etc. But in the midst of these terrorist events, everybody was smoking, and damn well everybody enjoyed it. But as concepts such as homosexuality, feminism, religious freedom and most importantly individualism has molded itself into society, we are now haters towards cigarette smokers. What was once accepted and established, during a time of moral and humanistic confusion, has now flipped to the opposite of this! We accept those concepts, yet reject cigarettes. I know there might not seem to be a correlation at first, but bear with me. It appears to be almost symbolic! We had disregard for actions not in conformity of our own values, and the aforementioned concepts of humanity were prejudiced and discriminated upon, for their involuntary qualities (skin color, sexuality). We've now come to become the master of the whip, the slave-owner who strikes down the cigarette smoker because he is doing an action which is voluntary and harmful as opposed to voluntarily harming someone for an involuntary quality. It's symbolic for cleansing, and the hate on the cigarette smoker is just to turn the back on the accepted fashions and values of the 1950s. Like the housewives in ancient Greece, to the homosexuals in Volendam, and the Negros of Mississippi were ashamed and guilty, and felt humiliation because of their "destined" roles, the cigarette smoker now takes their place, the smoker now feels a sense of self-pity, and insecurity, and undermined. The justification lies in "you chose to smoke, you chose to harm yourself, therefore I should not respect your existentialistic decisions as a human being." The generally held view is that "the ends justifies the means", which is hypocritical in its own right. See, the mass media, and tyrants who use crowd manipulation tactics to cut down on cigarettes ultimately instill the notion that they're intentions are good, good for the benefit of the economy and population. By using commercials and advertisement which make the smoker feel guilty and ashamed is cut their sense of self control. Commercials which show a mother on her death-bed, caused by lung cancer, which the precursor ultimately had to have been "the horrendous cigarettes" her children all around, mourning and crying, and enraged at Big Tobacco for allowing this. Nobody seems to pay attention, nor care about the other medical factors and physiological predisposition which could have led up to this woman in her cancer bed. Others on the cigarette packaging of some 5 year old boy and with the message "second hand smoke kills your children" (which, not to mention the notion that 2nd hand smoke is such a massive killer was actually proven false). Yet, sadly, that all who see who have any humanity will be guilty, and ashamed, led into moral conflict upon actions. It's a callous psychological maneuver. The worst part is, how can there be an opposition? How can the opposition to this be considered moral? All who oppose will be ostracized. Every defense the smoker tries to put forth, every reason for their smoking habit is ultimately rejected. The motives for smoking are just shrugged off as "rationalizing" and "justifying" a harmful action, and the smoker is often labeled "in denial" about their habits. The Mass Media who fuels this fire plays out their motive very well, and through their seductive, rhetorical, and manipulative ways, they can get anything they want. Unfortunately, nobody seems to pay attention to their mass hypocrisy and quasi-psychopathic ways. 3rd world countries, the problem with alcohol, drug prohibition, the fallacy of pharmaceuticals, overcrowded prison, poverty, national debt, the list goes on, and on, and on, and yet people still believe the media is on their side. The undeniable proof of my argument, which is essentially the exception which proves the rule, that the media, the core of entertainment, during the revolution of television of cinema sensationalized the action of smoking. They gave it elegance and an aesthetic appeal which seduced all following generations. They did so because it benefited themselves. It was the profit and publicity in the cigarette industry, the marketing and economic profit. Now, science has used it's power to caution people of cigarette, and how it's a risk if they approach it. The media, of course has spun this around and like they had made millions of off cigarettes, they are currently making more and more money off the "anti smoking" products. There's hundreds of anti-smoking products, and they're held in the same regard as cigarettes. Their purpose is profit. It's how the fat-cats, brass hats, and wall street executives maintain their sense of control and sustainability. It's what they do. Bobby Fisher played Chess, Mozart wrote music, Farmers farm, and Smokers smoke.

I'm beginning to ramble, so let me conclude with this: Cigarette smoking, like all voluntary actions are pursued to attain some good. This good might not be good in your eyes, or even mine, and it might not seem physically or physiologically good, but it is good to the person who pursuits the action. It gives them a sense of control and confidence. In an existentialistic world where we think we're in control, smoking, like all other actions give the individual a sure sense of control. A sense of doing what they want to do. We who stigmatize them are no better than the slave master, and the Christian Puritan whom we've all grown to despise. We have little control, but we should be fair to do what we want. As long as we don't harm another party, and as long as we know the risks involved for our actions, we should be free to smoke, do drugs, read the news paper and sip a nice cup of Joe. It's got nothing to do with the risks, or the benefits. It's about the quality, and the love of our decisions. We feel much guilt about feeble and nonsensical things, why should this be one of them? Remember: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.





I wrote this strung out after a night long stimulant binge. Please forgive my disorder and possibly incoherence. It's something I intuitively felt requisite to post, regardless of the cognitive and physical deficiency I felt when writing.

i dont want you to fucking order me a pizza or grab me a soda from downstairs. i dont care if its alright if i can have a friend over today. i just wanted you to be fucking nice once in my whole goddamn childhood. i wanted you to stop fucking yelling at me all those times i was cutting and having panic attacks. i wanted you to just maybe give a fuck about how much you yelled at me for literally nothing. why the fuck is it my problem if your jobs frustrating, i love listening to people tell their problems, but from as early as i can remember up until the day i moved out, i remember being petrified of you coming home from your business trips. all you would do was yell, judge, drink, and stare hatefully. i couldnt fucking take it as a little kid and im sure as hell not gonna fucking take that as an adult. this is why i never come home and visit you fuck and this is why i stay silent and vacant as much as possible around you.

---nobody

18 days clean and I already am experiencing HUGE noticeable differences in my life. Surprisingly, I'm not plagued with the obsession to use drugs this time around. Maybe it really isn't that surprising, after all.

I was asked when I came back to NA, 'What are you going to do different this time?'. I struggled for a week with that simple question and I really didn't know. I believed I worked hard at staying clean those 9 months and 25 days and the simple fact of the matter is that I CHOSE to use (I actually forced myself to get high on that day that lasted over 3 months)

I now realize that I AM doing things different. I'm hanging out with other people in NA. People with decent amounts of clean time. I'm following suggestions regardless of comfort level and I speak on the phone with numerous addicts on a daily basis.

I feel good. I've put some weight on. I'm helping others when I can. I'm somewhat responsible and I actually feel okay inside my own skin.

When I'm using, I'm a piece of shit that does things that go against my own beliefs. I hurt people. I steal. I manipulate. I'm suicidal. I only care about me and getting my next 'get high'

Shit, when I'm using I am a broken down, shriveled up, weak coward.

Today I mowed my parents lawn, and dragged chopped up stumps from a chainsawed tree to the curb. Later on, I went to a meeting.

After the meeting me and my boy Raul went to this coffee bar in Philly called Expresso Yourself (yeah, I'm saying the name because the place is struggling and they could use a plug). I had only been there two other times and its a really nice place.

This coffee bar has meetings in the basement and has open mike nights, karaoke and live performances upstairs throughout the week.

What makes the place special is that everyone that frequents the spot is in some sort of 12 Step fellowship and it gets PACKED.

Its real nice to go somewhere where I don't have to pretend, where I don't have to strut the 'tough guy strut'. I can be me in a safe environment.

After about an hour at Expresso Yourself, Raul and I went to a dude's 20th anniversary in North Philly. They had rented out a club and there was food, music and dancing. I only knew about 4 people there out of perhaps 200 but it was nice.

Ya know what's strange? North Philly is one big fucking ghetto. Natives frequently call certain areas 'The Badlands' (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philadelphia_Badlands). I used to cop in The Badlands and I was not triggered or plagued with the desire to use regardless of how close I was to the corner that I am quite fond of.

Its real simple there are really only two choices for me....

I can get with this (a life of being okay with me) or I can get with THAT (a life of misery and and progressive degradation)

Yeah... fuckin' hell... I'm gonna stick with THIS!

The gf is gone to help her sister across town. She said she will be gone for about 1 week. And I feel like a load has been taken off my mind. Yesterday, I was thinking about what to do during my freedom for the evening: ride my bike to China Town and try to cop, go for a long run, eat some kratom.

The kratom store is only a few blocks away and I get along with the people who work there. China Town, on the other hand, is a couple of miles away through traffic and the only people I see selling anything are assholes. So, I decided to go to the kratom store. I got some kratom for myself and a bag of catnip for the cats. I swallowed some purple capsules of kratom extract and would follow it with powdered leaf. I added water to about 6 grams (eyeballed) of the powdered leaf, stirred it, and took a swallow. I gagged. It is one of the most disgusting things I've ever tasted. I held my nose shut with one hand, held my breath, and finished the last few swallows. I drank a 1/2 glass of sweet orange juice to try to counter the extreme bitterness of the kratom aftertaste. Then I dry heaved for a moment but managed to keep down the drug. Jankem (a gas made from fermenting raw sewage supposedly huffed by Zambian street children) probably doesn't taste this bad.

While doing this, Elooise Cat had torn open her bag of catnip, scattered piles of it on the floor and was rolling in it and eating it. I went to my desk to do some reading. Every few minutes, Eloise, now crazey from the catnip, would walk up to me, rub against my ankle purring, then when I reached down to pet her, she would hiss and try to bite. Reminds me of my gf. At 1/2 hour after eating the kratom, getting very warm, numb, and itchy. I have a lot of entergy.

So I wanted to burn it off and play some Grand Theft Auto, a video game. It's a car-driving game, mostly, where you play quests to win a race or kill a crime boss. I can't get past this one quest called "Big 'n' Veiny." In it, a "spank-head" (spank is the name of a fictional narcotic in the game) has stolen a crime boss's (El Burro) shipment of donkey porn magazines titled "Big 'n' Veiny.' Your job is to track down the spankhead, run him over with your van, and return the magazines to the publisher, El Burro. This should be easy since a trail of magazines spills out of the open back of his truck as the "spanked-out" thief drives to his hideout. You follow the trail of magazines as you drive a van through downtown Vancouver or wherever it is set. But the catch is that you have to beat a fast timer in heavy traffic. I've tried dozens of tiems, but even when cheating, I can't beat it.

Anyway, had to quit because the fast, panning game movement was making me need to barf. I had to lie down right there on the floor by my desk so my stomach would settle. After a few minutes, I felt better and got up to the bathroom. Strangely, I had the impression that one of the gangsters from the game had gotten into the house and was following me, always standing ni the shadows or the periphery of my vision so I could only catch brief glimpses of him. Then I took a quick shower, went to bed. Didn't sleep for several hours. It was mostly going in and out of half-waking dream sequences in a very warm, numb, peacefu,l and pleasantly snug place.

Today, I feel sick to my stomach from my kratom hangover. My gut is bloated and tender, and my head hurts. Just looking at the computer screen makes me queasy. I'm going to make some coffee and see if it will make me feel better.

Ahh its friday im sitting around my dorm in pre-dope mode. How much longer before I can feel that sickly warm blanket spread over me. God damn stilll at least ten hours away. One complication is that my dad cut the service to my phone so thats gonna be a bitch trying to get ahold of my people. But I will make it happen very little can stop me in the pursuit of heroin. I am standing on the edge of a mountain with this addiction its gonna get me again. Oh well "Farther up and further in".

Fuck a duck I just freaken lost my cocksucking introduction GRRRRR! Short version: Copped a pleasant buzz from the pills, started goofing off writing a rediculous title "Cocksuckers Rule" in order to test out this font, then got into it and changed the title, and started REALLY writing. Some names have been changed to protect the guilty haha

A History of T. J -- Biological Background

During the spring of 1969 my kid sister so named Crystal Joyce Moon was born to Sharon Le Rose, a 17 year old unwed mother and Raymond Anthony Tarantino, a 28 year old out of work playboy in Scottsdale, Arizona. Tony, the name my birth father goes by told me in the summer of 1996 that he refused to marry Sharon because he had been living with a wealthy older woman & wasn’t about to trade a life on easy street to one of a responsible father/husband that actually had to support a family. He said my Mother Carla back in 1964 ,the year I was born had been the only woman to ever “dump” him, which broke his heart & therefore hardened his heart towards women/romance.

Of course, he also admitted too, that his own father Dominic Tarantino had raised & taught him that as a male, he did NOT have to work, & in fact, because of his exceptional good looks, bona fide male model material, wouldn’t & shouldn’t ever have to work. Tony’s parents Elizabeth & Dominic had catered to him his entire life. Dominic held an occasional part time job as a security guard, going to work when & if he felt like it only. Mama T, the name I had given her growing up, even though I never met her had the burden of not only raising the children, waiting on her husband hand & foot, but had the additional burden of supporting the family as well.

Mom had told me the same thing during the years I was growing up & I always somehow sensed she had been telling me the truth. She never bad mouthed my birth father, & I’ve always thought she was a hell of a woman for being able to hold her tongue about his shortcomings until I was an adult, and even then, only because I had asked for the truth. My intuition was affirmed one night when I had been 15 years old & staying with my grandparents, my Mother’s side. My Grandmother had been drunk & we always had deep conversations regarding all sorts of subjects, & I have to hand it to my Grandparents, God rest their souls, they too, never once bad mouthed Tony. My Grandfather said nothing, even though I found out years later that he hated Tony for what he had done, or I guess I should say had NOT done, which was to be a responsible father/husband.

The entire time my Grandfather was alive, he had only said one thing in reference to Tony, & only then because I had made a statement/question one day growing up saying, “Mom told me that you disapproved of her marrying Tony,” to which he simply stated, “Yes I did,” in a regimented tone of voice. The way he had finalized his statement told me loud & clear that he was not willing to discuss the subject any further. Looking back, I know the unspoken reason why not. My Grandfather didn’t have anything nice to say about Tony, hated him, but wanted to refrain from dogging my birth father. As an adult, I am amazed at the restraint both of my dear Grandparents demonstrated.

Grandma, on the other hand, was willing to elaborate & go into much more detailed discussions unlike my Grandfather, a trait that is pretty typical usually way more so in women than in men. I am grateful to both my Mother and Grandmother and hell women in general because usually it is through speaking and writing with other women I was able and am able now to gather more insight into men that are normally silent or shall I say, very direct & limited in their willingness to dispense information. I know it has to do with the chemical differences of how male and female brains work & are put together. My entire life up until the point I met Tony, as far as half the riddle of my genetic self/traits was a mystery.

I remember once seeing a movie many years ago on T.V. about Malcolm X. He so named himself, at least the “X”part, because he had no idea of either one or both of his biological parents, or -- perhaps it was his roots further back in his genealogy he was unsure of. The latter is probably true, but he so named himself Malcolm X because the answer to who he really was genetically,(due to the disgraceful American slave trade up until 1864) eluded him. I forget if it was his birth parents or further back in his lineage he was unaware of, but I so empathized with him because half of who I was had been, and probably always would be a mystery to me, or so I thought until I was 32 & after meeting Tony face to face. Some adopted friends I’ve known growing up could care less if they ever found out who their birth parents were while others were very or at least slightly curious to meet or at least know about their biological parents.

While I respect my peers not wanting to know more about their biological folks, I’ve never been able to understand how a person couldn’t be at least curious about who their parents were or where they came from, because even though their adoptive parents may be the only parents they would ever perhaps love & respect, the fact remains that genetics has a profound influence on who we are as individuals--regardless of whether or not we were raised by one or both of our birth parents. So, up until age 32, half of who I was, not so much spiritually, but genetically, had been a mystery to me. It felt like a loss somehow, or half a riddle, a riddle I would always remain unless and until I got to meet Tony or at least some relative like his sister Diane, my paternal Aunt who could fill in the blanks of this missing information.

My Grandmother, had told me as a teenager (or sometime) that Tony “was half exceptional and half nothing” or “half good and half nothing,” was the phrase she used. On the one hand Tony had been a lazy, undisciplined spoiled brat, a little spoiled boy in a man’s body, but on the other hand in spite of an aborted education, was highly intelligent, talented, and extremely handsome. I have seen pictures of Tony as a young man and Christ he was every bit as handsome as my Mother was drop dead gorgeous as a young woman. I am proud to have had beautiful parents because the artist in me, my love and appreciation for beauty in people, places, and things both physical and spiritual is stirred.

I am 46 now, or will be in 7 days & ever since the age of 32, have truly appreciated the fact that Mom was beautiful and Tony drop dead handsome. Mom approaching 67 years as of Oct 19, is in fact STILL a supreme beauty for her age, If not for being 60 lbs over weight, she would be a definite 10 for her age group. She has no wrinkles, flawless skin, and looks 17 years younger than she is, and as I said, if the extra weight was not there, she would probably look younger than me. Both my Mom and Tony had gifts and beauty, gifts my Mother made the best of and in fact became extremely successful both financially AND spiritually, while Tony for the most part did not. He too is or at least was quite handsome for his age. He was 64 the last time I saw him, but sadly, unlike my Mother, threw his gifts away for the most part.

He utilized his exceptional looks, as Dominic taught him, and made his living off women most of his life. He was successful somehow for about (I’m guessing) 2-3 years at robbing armored trucks and told me he had had literally thousands and thousands of dollars that came and went. He told me in 1996 he never had anything to show for it because he spent money every bit as fast as he made it. He had been successful also at eluding law enforcement for I’m not sure how long—for both multiple felonies of robbing armored trucks, as well as at least one, if not multiple counts of having had sexual intercourse with a minor or minors, of which my little half sis, sweet little Crys, had been born to, hence the beginning of Baby girl Le Rose born June 9, 1969, latter named Crystal Joyce or C.J. Moon, the name given to her by the parents that had adopted her back in 1969….(to be continued…should you, dear reader care to read more...?  )---T.J. Tarantino Sept 27, 2010

The 1st pic below taken Dec of 64 with Mom, Tony, & I, which was only 1 of 2 pics I had seen of Tony until age 32. The 2nd pic was taken Dec of 65 right around the time Tony was literally and metaphorically no longer "in the picture" haha.

I was so just blindly pissed off before..I had to delete what I wrote.

Anyway I've been going to meetings in north east philly lately and it's been helping keep me in check. Two club houses have become my home away from homes when my daughters at school.

I just feel like shit but I'm breathing slower now and it's getting easier

A long and rambling rant. It's going in NSFW tags.



A vacation from my girlfriend, continued

So, my buddy owns a little breakfast/lunch cafe. One of the waitresses knows I'm in NA and asked for help and if she could come to a meeting with me. She has never been to a meeting before. I said 'Of course.'

My plan was to bring her to a meeting, introduce her to some females and keep doing my thing. She said she didn't need to talk to others because she has a hard time opening up. She said she was comfortable talking to me so that's all she needs. It doesn't work like that. I'm not a therapist. I have no experience with the issues that females experience in life or in addiction. I'm not interested in being that dude that someone unloads all there nonsense on only to have them continue doing the same things they are accustomed to doing.

Getting clean is about change

I took her to two meetings and both times she was high. This doesn't bother me. What bothers me is the following:

Tonight I met her at Dunkin Donuts and I drove us to the meeting. She sat in judgement of everyone else stating that she wasn't like 'this' or she wasn't like 'that'.

Afterwards she unloaded her 'horrible' history and gave all the 'reasons' why she gets high. I figured, okay let her get this stuff out of her system and after that no more. I know what its like to be wrapped up in addiction and am not interested in war stories. She believes she is unique. When it comes to this thing, none of us are unique.

I went home and received a call from her 30 minutes later. She was still in the parking lot of Dunkin' Donuts. She asked if I found a bottle of Midol in my car. I told her 'no' but went out to my car to look. I didn't see anything.

When I got back inside my apartment she told me that there were two methadone pills in the bottle and she thinks the girl sitting next to her stole the bottle somehow.

I told her it wasn't impossible. She then started complaining that the girl was a loser. 'Who steals from a person at these meetings', she asked.

I told her that when we first get clean we don't magically change. Losing old behaviors is a process.

She didn't get it.

If you bring drugs into a room full of people that are trying to quit drugs then you're a fucking selfish asshole.

Midol is expensive. What if the girl simply stole it for legitimate reasons (cramps from having a period)? What if this girl empties two 'Midols' into her hand for her cramps and gets two methadone pills instead? What if she is on other medication that could potentiate the effects of methadone and has a zero tolerance for opiates?

Fuck! What about me? This girl brought drugs into my car and LOST THEM.

Its taking all my will power not to tear my car apart and put those fuckers under my tongue if they are there. Inconsiderate fucking asshole.

This shit is life and death. I'm not strong enough to deal with this fucking bullshit.

Before I left Dunkin' Donuts (before all this happened) I asked her to do me a favor and not get high tomorrow. Her reply was 'Why?'.

What the fuck do you mean 'why?'. You have two choices: keep using or make an effort to stop. Thats it. Those are the only two choices for any of us.

She's not ready yet. Her horror stories were things I went through when I was 18 years old. I'm not dick sizing but this fact gives me a perspective that she hasn't even begun to experience the pain of addiction.

I'm full of rage right now. I'm done fucking around with people who say they want to stop using but really don't. They just want to use me for whatever the fuck reason and I'm not having it.

This shit isn't a fucking game and I will fuck someone up if it continues. DO NOT FUCK WITH ME...

I am NOT STRONG ENOUGH RIGHT NOW and I can't fucking save you.

Men stick with the men. Women stick with the women. Simple as that. If you can't reach out to other females than go back and continue doing what you've always done but don't be surprised if you get what you've always got.

They say I'm a nice guy. They say they feel safe around me. You have no fucking idea you stupid, selfish, lying ass mother fucking cunts.

The door has been opened. Either walk through it or walk the fuck away. Don't endanger those who are making an effort. An uncomfortable, painful effort.

This shit is life and death and all you're worried about is your stolen drugs. I'm sorry to say but, there is a lot more pain waiting for you out there and you mother fuckers are running full speed towards it (and taking others with you).

Go fuck off and die. Die horribly, please.

I thought those last two sentences would feel good to type. Now I just feel fucking sick that I thought such a thing

I can't handle this, man. I received my last paycheck on the 30th so I have about $500 in the bank. You fucking assholes. You fucking assholes. You fucking assholes.

I don't need this and I can't fucking handle it.

I think there are three different types of drug (ab)users. These only include the users who use drugs to have fun, people who use stimulants for studying or people who use opiates for pain control etc don't fall into these categories. It's kinda funny to look at people here on bl and see them expressing themselves as being a certain type and making fun of people in the other categories. Some people are in all three categories.

The first type is people who use drugs to expand their conciousness, you mostly see this type in PD. Mostly psychedelic users (of course).

The second type is people who use drugs to party, people who use MDMA, stimulants, some psychs, alcohol, cannabis etc.

The third type is people who either use drugs to self-medicate mental disorders, or people using drugs because they're bored and have nothing better to do. This type is kind of a gray area, because you could say they're just partying or whatever, therefore putting them in the second category. You could also say that people who are self medicating aren't really abusing drugs per se, but just trying to medicate depression anxiety whatever so that they're able to live life like a normal person. In general this type is just to have fun, and it can include any type of drug.

Pretty much I just felt like posting this because I definitely notice these distinctions between people here on bluelight, and just thought it might be brain candy for some people to think about. Post your opinion about it.

Can you get high off of hydroxyzine? If so, how many mg does it take? And what does the high feel like?

The corner I used to cop from was very organized. This is typical of the open air drug marts in Philly. You have the dudes slingin', the dudes that play lookout and of course there's muscle hangin' out as well.

I was a regular customer and known to all the corner boys. Whenever someone would cop (myself included) the dude that was slingin' would shout 'tambien' (not real loud but loud enough).

I was curious about this and am still dwelling on it so I looked up the definition of 'tambien'.

tambien - too, as well, also
source: http://www.merriam-webster.com/spanish/tambien

See, I originally thought it meant 'okay' or 'cool' (as in alright). I figured they said this to let the muscle know that the money was right or they didn't get dicked over but now I'm fuckin' confused.

This corner didn't do car service. You had to get out of your car, walk to the dude who had your product (either coke, weed, ecstacy, wet or percs), do the deal and walk back to your car.

Oh well, another one of those trivial nagging wonders I'll have to figure out another time. I just know I can't figure it out from more experiences.

Tambien, soldiers, tambien.