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My upstairs neighbors, insufferable bitches.

First, the one girl and her boyfriend had made it known to the rest to us of her prosperous sex life and coy-ishly didnt take kindly to our respectful request to not make our floor shake (for goodness sakes, wes all about getting freaky but the FLOOR seriously get a fucking bed you whore).

Then the cowboy boots on tile floor... no biggie we can "tolerate it" till 10pm.

THEN they flood our ceiling and we had to evac our house for a weekend and the repairs will begin after the first of the year (2 weeks plus not in our own beds).

At this point we are pretty fed up with their bullshit.

Particularly now with my poor ability to sleep consistently-- and over-all stress levels high.

Saturday night, 2 am, clunk clunk clunk, bang, boom clunk clunk. OK its a Saturday night. We hear all sorts of banging and clanging in the living room and bed rooms, as if they are wrestling.

We get over it, 9 AM, bright and early, Sunday morning- I hadn't fallen asleep until about 7am.

We are both joyously greeted by a hammer on our ceiling for a good hour and a half (why one would be so retarded to hammer on a TILE FLOOR??!??)). Even after myself getting on a ladder to pound on the ceiling (so hard in fact that i bruised my hand)- obviously displaying our displeasure.

It continues.

So I find this brilliant solution.

Turn up my logitech subwoofer- and jump on some Massive Attack! Mezzanine in particular.

The subwoofer is so loud, and me with such little sleep- my body goes into a bit of shock.

But the hammer stops.

We both assume the lesson was learned.

Until 2 am, those goddamn cowboy boots --- clunk clunk clunk, bang boom thud clunk clunk clunk. For an hour.

I am tempted to blast my subwoofer, but its so late, and its so loud. I brush it off with cursing under my breath and angry thoughts of hurting someone.

I wake up at 6:30 am today, no luck sleeping- I cant sleep when I am angry. But i decide to put together MGS's breakfast. As he is sleeping away- snoring. I hear those cowboy boots AGAIN.

I cant do anything.

Now, as I write this, 6 pm, I hear thudding. I am a wretch at this time, regardless of my lack of sleep. I put on Tricky this time, rich rich- yes.

Then move on to Sounds From The Ground, excellent. One of those dumb bitches comes down to my door and knocks away while I continue my sub. Fuck them.

After repeated kind requests (hey please dont make us feel like chicken little ;) )and mentionings to their land lord about what a goddamn inconvenience their occupation has caused us ---I am through diplomatic discussions.

Its now nuclear war, but don't worry. I have 400 Gigabytes of Trance, Rock, Electronica, DnB, Tribal, Classical Music, Classic Rock.

Maybe I will get up tomorrow morning at 5:30 and put on Led Zeppelin, or better yet Delta 9-- or aw hell Ill get my ear plugs for Yoko.

Yoko... Oh .... No..
Anyone of u bad boys or girls care to join me? Ok ok so I'm at work & had 2 invent an excuse to post my current masterpeice below. There's no hope for yours truley haha. In any case, CHEERS!
Normally I don't care much for dreams simply because I have poor recollection of them. Here I present two distinct dreams. The first was a recent dream this morning. It was an unorganized sequence of events, but yet extremely vivid and unusual. As pointless it might sound, the sequence of events were relatively similar to the delirium invoked by the nightshades plants of the Solanaceae genus. There were several similarities which were presented in a similar manner as the deliriousness presented from Scopolamine and Atropine (and similar analogues which pass the blood-brain barrier).
The similarities were:

1: An angel figure manifested in human form which was communicating directly with me and their words seemed to be that of divinity

2: In some events which contained a physical action my performance was extremely poor and I kept on forgetting what I was doing, and why; objects would appear, and disappear, it would fall into the ground and drag me down with it, and do this continuously (a common event in a majority of my dreams).

3: The scenery changed repeatedly. From one location to the next, and back and fourth.

The second dream happened some time ago, about a month ago I believe. I remember that I was attempting to take a nap when I was in the peak of a long, difficult period of insomnia. I had lay down on the couch in the middle of the afternoon and closed my eyes. I was at threshold unconscious when my pet cat kept meowing very loudly. So not only was I in 2nd stage sleep, there was constant noise which, of course is ignorable for my brain to process.

Anyway, onto the point.

The first dream (the one from today) I have no recollection of the order of the sequences but I will present the 2 halves which structured the dream.

The first, I was bowling. I was in the local bowling ally, which I have only been to twice in my life. I remember trying to shoot the bowling ball down the lanes, but every time I picked the bowling ball up I would put my hand in the wrong position. Like I would put my hand in backwards, or put the wrong fingers in the wrong holes; this kept on happening over, and over again, continuously. Sometimes in the middle of the cycle of constantly failing to hold the ball properly, I would drop the ball and it would fall and sink into the ground, and somehow end up with me failing to put my fingers in the holes again. Finally, I said "fuck it" and threw the ball down the lane. Of course, I missed by a longshot. What happened after I threw the ball? I find myself struggling to hold the same ball again!

The second sequence of the first dream: Suddenly the world around me changes into a meadow, a nice, lush green meadow. Possibly, and it reminds me of an open space at a provincial park that my father and I had gone camping at a few times in my childhood. In this location, I was looking up at a female figure with braided hair; she was a girl who I had known for a very seldom period named Amber. I had only talked to her maybe two-four times in my life, but each conversation was deep and meaningful (i will not elaborate in this blog). However, this was not what Amber actually looked like. She actually carried quite a contrary appearance in the dream to what she had looked like in reality. Anyway, she kept talking to me about something, although I cannot remember specifically what she was saying. She did, however begin to talk about her "new found lover" whom she was going to marry. I think she says he was an actor. Amber suddenly disappears, out of thin air; suddenly her lover shows up. He carries no name, and is just a figment of my own unconsciousness (I have never seen, or met this man in reality). He is a good looking man, he has glasses, a strong face and body, and he wears a red shirt. The point of view I'm is lying down and looking up at him. He has a white light surrounding him. He was telling me words which were very important, but I was in such awe that I couldn't understand what he was saying. He was a God in my eyes.

Suddenly, I wake up.

The second dream:
I was running through the woods, my laptop under one arm, my cat under the other. I had kept running downhill in great excitement and deep anticipation, as if when I had arrived in the bottom there would be some significant reward for me. When I had finally arrived at the bottom I was standing on a deserted, misty road, and on left and right sides there were houses which were on top of little hills right by the road. I remember my cat had fallen out of my arm and I kept thinking 'where the fuck is he? He was right here, don't tell me he's gone!' and I was fretting to find him. I look up and I notice him standing on a ledge (like a plank of some sort) looking into the distance. I pick him up and place him under my arm. By the time he's under my arm, I notice my laptop is missing too. I then say 'where the fuck did it go?' and it suddenly returns to me (Just a note: if anyone has read stories on Datura, a recurring event is people smoking cigarettes and then they just suddenly dissapear; it was very much like that, a truly frustrating feeling). With both my cat and laptop under my arm, I notice I'm lost but I look up and see a street sign saying "Pharmacy". I walk up to one of the houses and say 'could you please help me find Pharmacy and Mcnicoll?' (for those of you who live in Toronto, I'm sure you know where that is). A guy sitting on a chair looked at me and said something in a foreign language. I proceeded to keep walking. Soon thereafter, I ended up at a large stadium, and my friend Matt called out to me. I looked over and responded 'I know where the fuck I'm going, I really don't need your help'. His mother looked at me with shark eyes and just nodded her head, and by this point, I noticed my fucking cat was missing again. So I walk to the stadium (which was full of people) and say 'have any of you guys seen my cat?'. Of course, just as I say this my cat returns once again. I then said 'Do any of you know where Pharmacy and Mcnicoll is?'. Matt's sister shook her head 'no'. A Blonde lady, right on the second row right in front of me tapped her husband on the shoulder (a biker lookin' fella), but he was asleep, head down, snoring and drooling. She kept saying 'sweetie, sweetie' and eventually he wakes up. Just as her Man is about to say something, I wake up.
...and what it does to people in the short and the long term.

It is an insidious substance, state of mind, and lifestyle choice become an epidemic of herculean proportions. The great ripples of negativity its abuse leaves across all of civil society leaves me with a heavy heart and soul.

To everyone I have ever known and loved who was and might still be using it to the point of self-annihilation: I wish you the best. But I must now leave, because trying to love you is entirely too hard on me.

Not being able to scale the walls you've built around your body and soul leaves me no choice but to turn away. I need to be able to fight the good fight another day.


<3

:(
Today is Friday, August 20, 2010 and it is now 1218 PM here in the South Bronx, New York City, USA.

Recap: I was talking about how some Filipinas scam sad white men online.

This entry: I am sitting at a table in the Mott Haven Branch of the New York City Public Library, reveling in all the printed materiel. As small as this library is it is almost heaven after the last couple of months in the Philippines. Even the most isolated part of that country has fluent English speakers but apart from a couple of tiny 1 person stalls in malls, and only then in the biggest of cities can one find English books. For that matter, there aren't that many book stores in native languages either.

I am reading a travelogue about the Mid East. I love seeing the region through the eyes of foreigners but only those who truly immerse themselves in the disparate cultures and Peoples. I have a habit of reading several books at the same time, switching as the fancy strikes me. Today I am only reading 2 books, the other being a huge compendium on Liberation Theology.

For those unaware, Liberation Theology is a distinctly left wing ideology where religious Catholics use their Catholicism to support (usually) violent liberation movements (easiest way to describe it).

If anyone used to read my BL Journal they might recall a time I took my (then) 8 year old sister-in-law Marian to a show at the Mt.Carmel Catholic Church, the village church in San Franz (San Francisco), our town in Mindanao. A Carmelite institution, usually staffed with foreigners, it also runs Mt.Carmel College, Rizza's alma mater, a K through 12th grade school (as well as the rest of the family)...though "12th Grade" is a bit of a misnomer since the Philippine School System is a 10 year system ( that is how I was able to marry Rizza when she was 15,and still have married her after she entered university). They are considering a change, but I doubt that will ever happen.

The show was by the Philippine celebrity Che Che Guitterez. As we entered the sanctuary, where the show was taking place, I couldn't help but notice how empty the pews were. Like most churches in the rural areas there, the outer walls were painted cinder blocks with circular arpertures,as much for decoration as for utility since they allow air to circulate freely.

All along the walls were brown faces pressing themselves into those openings as hard as they possibly could. Tickets had cost 600 Pesos, roughly 13 US Dollars, half a weeks pay for most... and most don't work.

I expected the priest, in this case a Filipino, to allow these poor and desperate people to enter once the show began. After all, once the show started they wouldn't be able to make any more money, right?

The slide show began, cheesy music and spoken word in Tagalog, a language not really understood in the south, even though it is basically the national language and a mandated subject in every school.

The doors stayed shut. I felt as if I wanted to beat that priest, to beat him bloody and shove his face through those openings, make him see what I was seeing. He was blind to his surroundings, most are but sometimes, very rarely a priest or Church Lay Worker comes, and they are touched. More than a couple have run off into the bush and joined the rebels. The most famous was Father Navarro, "The Barefoot Priest." He was especially noteworthy for coming from one of the island's richest families, the Navarro Clan of Surigao de Norte Province.

In my last entry, in Comments, Mariposa asked me why I hate Americans. I could answer any number of ways but my particular reason THEN related to something I sadly discovered about 3 weeks ago, in Quezon City, the part of Metro Manila where Jackie lives.

I had sought out a doctor to "write" for me. I have enough morphine, fentanyl and oxycodone to last maybe 3 years. Being the addict that I am, it is not enough. I can never feel secure unless I have an open conduit in obtaining these substances.

I finally found a doctor with the neccessary S2 Liscence, which allows him to write prescriptions for "Dangerous Drugs," in this case opiates/opioids. He was most obliging, to the point where he looked as if he was going to start crying. Why was he sad? He was ready and willing to write for me BUT was UNABLE. In late 2009 some fucken dickhead from Boston, 28 years old (I will leave his name alone, he has enough problems) decided he was going to do the same thing, only he didn't give a shit about anyone but himself.

He fucked the 2 doctors who obliged him, the pharmacy where he filled it, and 3 staff members of that pharmacy. He was getting massive amounts of Oxycontin (we have a French brand, Mundipharma, in the country). He had the doctors who were very naive, give him a bunch of scripts. He had them put the same date on all of the scripts, then filled them all on the same day at the same pharmacy!

Fast forward 4 months and the renewal of the pharmacy's Liscence. An auditor went over the books and of course notices this huge aberration. Then, he discovered that after that date the guy continued going to the pharmacy but didn't worry about prescriptions, getting the tabs over the counter.

All the people involved caught indictments including this dickhead American, but of course he happened to have left the country. It doesn't take much creativity OR effort to go to 8 or 9 pharmacies, or to stagger scripts, datewise.

Quezon City is tight as a drum now though I have yet to find about other parts of the Metro area. I have a gnawing feeling that other areas will have heard about this, especially pharmacies since only 1 retail chain carries opiates/opioids in the entire nation! Hospital Pharmacies charge twice as much, but hey, better than an American street corner, right?
Today is Saturday, September 25, 2010 and it is 705AM here in the South Bronx, New York City, in the US.

Recap: I spoke about an experience I had had on Mindanao maybe 2 years ago,and then went on to talk about some asshole American with an Oxycodone (Oxycontin) jones who raped Manila and ruined several lives all for his personal vice.

This Post: It has been an interesting (almost) 5 weeks since my last entry. I was back in the Philippines for 12 days, and in Israel for 4 days.

Jackie had missed 3 days of IMing and I became very concerned. Before I had left for NY in August I had beatn 1 of her neighbours very badly. The panty thief, the "secret admirer" who had been texting her got drunk and fucked up his game, admitting to Cris (Jackie's friend who had been staying with her in the house I rented) who he was,etc. I do believe I mentioned that admission in a past entry. I was prepared to let it go,Jackie isn't my woman but I have taken it upon myself to be responsible for her (for at least 1 year) and that includes her safety, naturally. Going to Jackies though, I saw him and 2 other losers drinking rotgut in the corner of the compound where Jackie's house sits. Snickering,he made a comment in Tagalog, calling me a queer.

I really didn't have a choice as I saw it and beat him bloodily. Ergo 3 days with no IM and I was more than concerned. Neither answering her phone OR texts I was considering what to do. Afterall, I was in NY. Then,on the 4th day,Cris who had returned home to Mindanao IMd me.

She began by berating me.I patiently waited for her to finish her tirade and then calmly asked her what was wrong. She said she thought I was a good man but she had been wrong,afterall she said, I let Jackie take a job as a maid.

A maid in the Philippines is not far removed from a slave. For example,in Jackie's case,as I soon found out, she was working 7 days a week,from 530AM until 930PM and though given free meals was sharing a room with an elderly maid for the whopping renumeration of 62US a month.

Jackie coincidentally contacted me the next day, via IM. I asked her how things were going and why I hadn't heard from her in 3 days.She told me she ran low on money and couldn't get a "load" (internet phone data minutes),and apologised.

I played my card. I asked her how she liked being a maid. She was shocked. She started stammering excuses,saying it was for me, so I wouldn't have to support her.

Fine I said,its her life,what did she do with the house I rented? She said she had told the owner she was moving and had gotten the deposit refunded and bought Cris' ticket with it...after I had warned Jackie NOT to give Cris money.

I told Jackie that she's a fucken liar (well that's old news) & to enjoy her life as a slave.

Meanwhile, I had to go for my twice monthly visit to Mindanao. On my flight to Manila I met an old friend of mine. I won't drop his name here for obvious reasons but he is a Kennedy School academic specialising in terrorism and suicide bombing. I had met him in 2005 when he served with the American Special Forces contingent based in Zamboanga City's Camp Navarro, as an American Special Forces Jr.Grade Officer. A Special Forces officer who then rapidly became a recognised expert in his field, I admire him a lot. He told me he was going to Pampanga,to Angeles City,on the island of Luzon, the island where Manila and Makati are located.

Angeles borders Clark, the old US Air Base that was vacated when Mt.Pinutabo but is best known as the Sex Capital of SE Asia.Fields Avenue in the city is world famous for that.

What happens there is that there are umpteenth strip clubs, though its much different than in the West. Legally women canot bare it all,so instead they wear thongs,or skimpy costumes. Men come in,buy a drink for them and,if they want,they pay 1500 Pesos (32US) as a "Barfine." Barfine is the house commission for what will take place. Barfine paid you go to a hotel or whatever and pay up to 1500 Pesos more to have sex.

He was going not for sex but to visit a woman he had met when he served in the south.

I told him I would think about it and let him know in a couple of days.

To be continued..
Perhaps a week and a half ago I was, as they say, 'Happy, Joyous and Free'. Since then, this has changed. I'm noticing that I am extremely angry, judgmental and hypocritical.

I am either doing something new or am NOT doing something that I once was. I'm unsure. Something is going on within myself that I can't put my finger on.

I honestly believe that I was a kinder person when I was using and I don't get it. I'm doing things differently now in a good way but feel bad on the inside.

I am very edgy lately and walk around with a chip on my shoulder. Why? Isn't it enough for me that I'm not in pain anymore? What happened to my plans on getting involved in volunteer work? Why do I go to meetings wanting to punch a motherfucker in the head?

I made three meetings today. One from 11 am to 1 pm, one from 7:30 to 9 and another from 10 to 11:15. I don't even leave the meeting to take a piss, I can't afford to miss a word.

My sponsor has me reading 'Who is an addict?' every day for 30 days and I am 11 days into that assignment. If I miss a day, I start over.

I am 9 days into my 90 meetings in 90 days. This is my third or fourth attempt since being discharged from rehab. If I miss a day, I start over.

I give newcomers (like me) rides to meetings and have developed a camaraderie with two dudes that I hang out with on a daily basis and go to meetings with.

I buy folks coffee and cigarettes even though I only work 5 hours a week.

I exercise like a motherfucker. This used to make me feel good but now it only strokes my ego because I am noticing that I am looking good now. I need to look good because I want to be someone's ideal physically, mentally and emotionally.

WHAT AM I MISSING? I must be missing something or doing the right thing for the wrong reason SOMEWHERE in this thing.

I kinda think that I need to NOT hang with the newcomer but if I do that I will only have MY opinion of myself which will always be biased.

Perhaps that is the problem. Others don't think I'm as great as I think I am and this bothers me?

I think I'll print this out and share it with my sponsor.

I NEED TO GET WELL but people tell me its a slow process and that as an addict I want what I want RIGHT NOW.

Perhaps I am just experiencing growing pains?

I know that I don't like how I'm feeling because it just doesn't seem right.

Fuck, I dunno.
the walking personification of my failed relationships

i need to reset my brain
any outta town ers in lexington for the games in need of any assistance, feel free. and welcome to Ky:D
I used to be pretty fuckin' slick. Always on-point, walking around with my dick swingin' proud.

That shit stopped a few years ago. I'm real close to 40 years old and I'm beat the fuck down and worn the fuck out.

So, this thing I'm doing, chasing distractions from myself is winding down. Definitely coming to an end. How it ends is vague but I can determine the severity of the negative aspects of this surrender.

But I won't.

I'll just let it run to its natural end. That kinda end is never pleasant. At the least it will be the revelation of realities and the severity of my 'sickness' to those I care about and this will hurt them. At the worst... well, we know that fuckin' answer all too well, don't we?

I can't even believe how bad I have let it progress but I can't do a fuckin' damn thing about it.

That fuckin' need is there and always will be. I can't fight it so why the fuck bother? I gota surrender to the fact that this game is fuckin' rigged. That monster is a meaner mother fucker than I will ever be. My monster is still walkin' around with its dick swingin'. Me? I'm broke the fuck down.

Yeah, its approaching the end. For some reason I think it will be positive regardless of all the negative that's gonna happen.

Ain't so fuckin' slick, now.

Really not sure if I ever was.
i'm really sick. i've been pushing it off for a while because i've been broke/spending all my money on beer. i smoked way too many bongs last night. my throat burns. i'm an idiot. the doctor is going to punch me in the face when she sees how bad i let myself get. eh. i got an appt in two weeks. hopefully it doesn't get any worse.

i'm addicted to getting fucked up in general. it's strange. i tried not drinking for a week and that didn't work out. i lasted a day. and i ate half a morphine pill that day. that's the thing, i alway spread my stash out like a little meiser. i take the lowest amount possible so it lasts me forever. i'm back at the point that i feel like i NEED things to be social again. and that sucks. i dabble in the benzos once in a while but not too much because i have that fear of going through withdrawal again in the back of my mind. cool, thanks withdrawal. at least you did something besides fucking suck. my new interest this past week has been vicodin. i just love pills. it blows. i think because it does ALMOST the same thing as drinking in the social aspect but i don't get sloppy. anxiety is a whore. i just took some cold meds and i felt them doing their thing in my stomach and i LIKED that feeling. most people probably don't even notice that feeling. well, at least i realize it's a bad thing.

i broke up with my boyfriend like 2 weeks ago. he wants to meet up tonight and 'talk' ...all i can think is FIND THAT KPIN NOW. i don't want a relationship, i don't need to be bringing him down with me. he says we can help each other because he's the same way i am, almost. but i'm thinking we should get our shit together for ourselves first. i have a feeling he's gonna move back to philly after i tell him this. that would suck, he's my best friend.

people come, people go. gotta keep remembering that. man, i'm bumming myself out. i only have 2 bucks and some change. that sucks. maybe that's why i'm here writing this blog instead of on a mission. eh.
i just remembered one of the first times i rolled: it was NYE (12/31/04) and we were all partying at this dude's crib (friend of a friend) back in my hometown. there were probly like 10 of us there, including dude's mom. she was so barred up and drunk that at multiple times during the night, when we were blowing up out of our minds, she asked us if we wanted any sandwiches. almost exactly like the grandma from Bad Santa. she had them made and everything. my depth perception was so fucked i couldn't even light a blunt, let alone eat a fucking sandwich, lol. EAT A SANDWICH? even if i said 'yes', i probly would have completely forgotten said sandwich, seconds after the agreement. i was on 200mg MDMA minimum and this lady, this dude's mom, is asking me if i want a sandwich...eyes rolled back in my skull...at like 3 in the morning...on NYE...lol. classic.
I have in reality very little clean time. Today isn't a bad day but all I can think about, smell and FUCK I'm drink Chi why does it FUCKING taste like coke!??

I've got the cash where's my shit!

Heh yeah and I'm going to go pick up my daughter in oh yeah five minutes and don't forget open house tonight. Now how can I squeeze in those bags..will they notice if I have to run to the bathroom more often?

So..time to walk..pretend that I'm okay.
Back when I was doin' the corporate thing rather well (i was clean) my Director asked me how I would define the difference between 'Intelligence' and 'Wisdom'.

I replied that 'Wisdom' was applied 'Intelligence'.

Check this out... I NEVER realized that I have a huge crew of folks that are lookin' out for me. These folks have HEART and they have 'Intelligence' and 'Wisdom'.

Its a real feel good thing for me and it puts things in perspective and kinda has started many positive processes.

Yeah, I'm grateful. Who would have realized, man? When you are at your worst, people step up and lend their strength. Man, that's cool as shit. That's service to others. I'm VERY grateful for this, man.

Its tick tocking away quickly. I'm gonna get back to being me again, man. I still need to borrow some of that strength ya got right about now though :\
I have this friend, who I have loved, as family.
I have been a good friend to her.
I approach friendships thinking- be the friend I would want.....ya know?
Well, this girl, has been blowing me off the last few days- wrote me a nasty note saying I was being like a jealous high school bf when I asked a few times why she was ignoring me. At first I asked , or said 'I think you are avoiding me' jokingly- then it seemed she actually was which caught me off guard.....so I msged her on fb and asked her if and why she was......
I was sort of catty back and then the next day wrote and apologized for my rude response. and she hasn't responded. So a couple days went by, I called her today and she didn't answer.
She is OBVIOUSLY blowing me off but if I were to mention this, she would say I am paranoid or being immature.
I am sick and tired of people thinking they can treat me like some disposable friend. I do not want to be a friend of convenience.
That's annoying.
What is most annoying is she won't even tell me what her deal is. If I did something wrong, tell me.
If I didn't and you're having a shitty week, tell me. Don't be immature and play games and then accuse me of acting like I'm in high school.
I guess if she calls I will wait and see if she act
ually has good reason to be treating me this way.....Can't think of one but we will see.
I am just at the end of my rope with one sided relationships.
Be my friend or don't- but have the balls to be up front with me.
After slipping up this week and using meth again, I learned something about the drug that I'd suspected for a while. Once you've been hooked on the meth, you'll be disappointed with it every time you use. You can never quite get the same high that you used to. Nothing can match your very first hit. Even after 2 months off meth, the high didn't quite meet my expectations. It was good quality gear too - it wasn't shit, and I smoked a reasonable amount. So I guess this is another reason why I should try to stay clean. What's the point in using a drug that always lets you down? :\
Ecstasy was one of those substances I told myself I would never try, in high school. Freshman year of high school I was offered some by the principle's son and was pretty tempted to try it, but well aware of many of the horror stories that were purported by it from the media. I refrained that night and Reflecting back I wish I had tried it then, because trying it later led me to a plethora of other things as well, many that did me no good.

Route of Administration:
Oral, Insuffalation
Appearance of Drug: Various colored stamped pills, white crystal powder
Length of Drug: 5-8 hours
Memorable Songs on Drug:
Chemical Brothers: Do It Again
Motorcycle: as the rush comes (extended mix)
Daft Punk: One More Time
Drug Scores: 4-10 /10

I Finally tried Ecstasy at 19 with 2 close friends. The first roll was amazing, I was surprised by the fact that I never felt overwhelmed by it in the way I had with hallucinogens, yet it still maintained a significant change in cognitive thinking which I found quite psychedelic. Through E I was introduced to the rave culture, and my first time rolling at a rave was up there with the first roll. I have had many rolls over the past 5 years and many say there first few are the best, I can't say that's been the same case with me. I've had some of my best rolls up until last year. Different enviornments, different people, different music, and different pills all adds some undefinable enigma to the Ecstasy experience.

Music is necessary for me on Ecstasy. Electronic music usually goes best but I can listen to certain rock as well. On some rolls the music just feels as if it flows through my being and into my soul. Other times it has a less spiritual feeling and is just all about getting down to the funky beats. On the comedown the music usually shifts to slower electronica or introspective softer rock, marijuana is great at this stage. But, one of the worst things about E is I've used Ketamine, Salvia, Nitrous and GBL to fend off the comedown as well. One can easily end up trying 3 different substances in an evening with ecstasy, one of it's traps.

I've used it at parties, used it in small groups, and used it by myself each experience lending itself to a different aspect of the experience. It is probably the most versatile drug there is.

Personal Pros
Introduced me to new people
Found new music
Discovered and worked on personal issues
Enjoy Dancing
-Euphoric
-Stimulates Creative Thinking
-Positive Mood Push

Personal Negatives
Probably become more closed off after experience
Use other drugs with it
-Comedown
-Short Term Memory Loss
-Grinding Teeth
I've been suffering from agoraphobia w/ panic disorder and social phobia for about a decade.

An array of antidepressants and benzos have been prescribed to me in the past, but none compare (in effectiveness) to my most recent antianxiety regimen:

Buspirone (For mental symptoms)
Betablocker (For physical symptoms)
Fast-acting Benzo (For panic attacks)

I learned this-and-that about buspirone and betablockers while writing an essay on mental health disorders; much more familiar with benzodiazepines (my current one being diazepam).
Filing this one under Misogyny.

Recently, I mentioned that my gf, A, has been demanding my computer passwords. We don't share computers. She has hers set up the way she wants it and mine is set up the way I want mine. And I want privacy, and I respect her privacy. I don't want someone snooping around in my browser history, my documents, papers, audios, videos, pictures, and other personal files. I set passwrods on my computers -- they are to login once the computer is booted, to check my email, access acounts, acces files and documents, etc.

So, what did my gf do last night? Around 11pm, my gf A__ took a shower and went to bed. Then I took a shower. But I forgot to logout of my computer before I took a shower -- it logs out automatically within 15 mintues or so and locks the screen. But, apparently while i was in the shower, A got out of bed -- she wsa only pretending to sleep, then she went to my computer before it locked and started goig n through my broswer history. --I dont delete the history and until now, I havent' seen a need to LOCK DOWN my computer when it's goign to be out of my sight for more than 10 seconds. -- i didn' thtink she was this disrespectful of my wish for privacy. THen she jumped back into bed before i got out ot the shower and, again, pretended to be asleep when I got out of the bathroom. That's the only time between my shower and this morning that she would have had access to my computer.

I have told her before that snooping won't be tolerated. I value privacy. I know she did this because of waht she did this morning. She described to me a picture that was in one of the threads in the Lounge section of bluelight. -- In that thread, someone had uploaded a nude picture and posted it. A described that picture of the girl in such detail, though I had only glanced at it and not given it mucyh attention, that I knew immediately waht she had seen. She went on adn on about this girl who she has, in her mind, become my secret internet girlfriend. Then she ranted about how she hates porn and how evil she thinks it it and she'll leave me if she finds me looking at it. I dont' have anything against any legal kind of pornography. In fact, I like porn sometimes adn see no harm in it. (ON the other hand, my gf likes plenty of things which I hate, like, for example, cupcakes. And television.) So, not only that, but now, she has seen bluelight and might ahv figured out what it is and that I have an account. That's another thing that's none of her business. I dont' think she hasn't messed with the password, but I think I might ask an admin to nuke my account-- to delete all of my posts and blog entries. I have written of some personal experiences on bluelight which I don't mind sharing in an anonymous forum, but I don't want certain peopel I know in real life learning about the. Or even my participation in a forum of this nature, even though it is harm-reduction. People take things the wrong way. Some peopel even use things against you.

Now I don't know what to do. I told her how I feel -- I feel wronged and violated. Her response was that she has the right to snoop on me and will continue doing it.

What just happened to me reminds me of a story I recently read in a Relationships Advice column. It was about some nosy girlfriend who wsa snooping on her x-bf. She admitted to going through his browser and found that he had an account on a gay sex meeting site. His profile pic was a photo of his penis. Then she read his profile. It was full of graphic descriptions of the sexual practices he was into. Nothing really bizarre or weird. But I can imagine that reading this would horrify a young and relatively sheltered girl, especially when her boyfriend is the one doing it. For exapmle, in it, she said that he said specifically that he likes to suck penises. I think he was into "bare-backing" as well. Also in his account were forum exchanges with other gay or bi- men about meetings he was having for sex. Prior to this, she had no idea he was into men. She claims she was so shocked that she puked while reading it! Whether the greatest source of the shock is that he was cheating on her or that it was with men in high-risk situations, she didnt' say, but it sounded like the latter. And now she is freaking out and worried that she has an STD because she saw that the dates of the account were from the time they were still together.

That story gives me some ideas....
Remember that first leather jacket you had? Once you slide your arms into those sleeves, something changes. You feel invincible, you feel strong, you feel protected.

Yeah, nothing changed but outer accouterments. You're still the same mother fucker but you FEEL different.

That's the feeling I get when I lace up my boots but more. When I strap those polished Doc Martens on and tighten those blue laces, I feel alive. Fuck. I feel like ME.

I've had these boots for almost 22 years. They are still solid. They shine up real nice and the soles... well, they are ORIGINAL Dr. M's... soles like that don't wear.

But, I gotta look deeper into this. These boots, man they take me back to a simpler place. A place where we fought on-on-one or in groups. On occasion we used weapons (NEVER used guns) but our real weapons were our boots.

We were boys playing at being men. But we understood some fuckin' honor. You win some, some you don't. There is ALWAYS another fight to get in for some 'noble' reason or another. Ya take your punches, show off your bruises and respect your 'enemy'.

When we walked, we walked proud and together. We all had the same fuckin' boots. We all had the same fuckin' braces. We all had the same idea that we were something, and we definitely were something. Misunderstood, the media called us racists. Racist? Fuck you! Not us, man. Those other motherfuckers had a more glamorous perspective for the media. They had bald heads too. They had organization too. They hurt the 'undesirables'.

Us? We fought for equality.

It was the late 80's so we didn't experience the working class unity that the skinhead culture was based upon. We came in on the tail end and our purpose wasn't about working class solidarity. Our purpose (and we needed purpose) was to even the fuckin' odds. Our purpose was to keep our name honorable (we couldn't accomplish this one unfortunately).

We were S.H.A.R.P. and those 'nazi' racist motherfuckers were our target. If you fucked with someone based on race, any race, you ended up with boots stomping on you.

We didn't always win. As passionate as we were for our 'cause' those skins that were white-power and 'neo-nazi' kept us as their target as well.

Yin and fucking Yang.

Anyway, this need for identity is compelling.

I wanna feel that invincibility again. I wanna feel that purity of good intentions again. I need to grab on to that identity RIGHT NOW.

My strength may be in my boots for a few months. I'm okay with that because it is something that has identified me as me almost as long as drug use has identified me.

Time to lace those bastards up and strut like a soldier again. Yeah, I hear ya... 'lookit ol' head playing soldier'. Nah. this ain't playing. I need to get that swagger back. I'm going to need it for this fuckin' upcoming battle on the horizon.

This battle with the drugs will need some serious soldier work.

I'll play 'old soldier' for a while just to get through
Within the past year I have experienced some interesting things. Well, interesting to me because it was my experience. Boring and uneventful to others but quite fascinating to my simple mind.

Fascinating because these experiences were from the process of getting clean, accepting reality, facing responsibility, implementing change and relapsing.

What have I learned in the past year?

* Everything is temporary
* Hostility, resentment and fear are my initial responses to the unfamiliar
* Consistency is important.
* Repeating positive actions, consistently will make those actions become habits
* Not everyone is in this for the same reasons
* If i don't get high, it WILL get better. Sooner? Later? Who’s to say? Don’t fuckin’ bail before it does.
* Obsessive thinking causes me pain
* Self-centeredness is a motherfucker
* Just fuckin’ do it otherwise it’ll ruin my day from dwelling on neglecting responsibilities
* I am afraid of many things
* I make impulsive decisions that are horrible for my well being and can be potentially fatal
* Its not all about me
* My life really isn't mine. Believe it or not even if only one person values me, it would be selfish to end my life because of the impact it would have on 'just one'
* I can't use drugs and live a fulfilling life
* I simply do not like who I am
* Service to others is very likely to be the single most effective way to getting better added 09/19/10 4:00pm
Still alive and kicking. Been busy around here with lots of stuff and haven't felt compelled to do much online. I am on Facebook alot, so I guess if anyone wants to add me it would be fine since I have been pretty neglectful to this site lately.

Going a little stir crazy ATM but nothing major going on.

Can't think of much to write right now, so maybe I'll write something when I do.

Hope everyone is good. :\ <3
Clinton has signed a bill passed by Congress that orders the states to adopt new, more onerous drunk-driving standards or face a loss of highway funds. That’s right: the old highway extortion trick. Sure enough, states are already working to pass new, tighter laws against Driving Under the Influence, responding as expected to the feds’ ransom note.

Now the feds declare that a blood-alcohol level of 0.08 percent and above is criminal and must be severely punished. The National Restaurant Association is exactly right that this is absurdly low. The overwhelming majority of accidents related to drunk driving involve repeat offenders with blood-alcohol levels twice that high. If a standard of 0.1 doesn’t deter them, then a lower one won’t either.

But there’s a more fundamental point. What precisely is being criminalized? Not bad driving. Not destruction of property. Not the taking of human life or reckless endangerment. The crime is having the wrong substance in your blood. Yet it is possible, in fact, to have this substance in your blood, even while driving, and not commit anything like what has been traditionally called a crime.

What have we done by permitting government to criminalize the content of our blood instead of actions themselves? We have given it power to make the application of the law arbitrary, capricious, and contingent on the judgment of cops and cop technicians. Indeed, without the government’s "Breathalyzer," there is no way to tell for sure if we are breaking the law.

Sure, we can do informal calculations in our head, based on our weight and the amount of alcohol we have had over some period of time. But at best these will be estimates. We have to wait for the government to administer a test to tell us whether or not we are criminals. That’s not the way law is supposed to work. Indeed, this is a form of tyranny.

Now, the immediate response goes this way: drunk driving has to be illegal because the probability of causing an accident rises dramatically when you drink. The answer is just as simple: government in a free society should not deal in probabilities. The law should deal in actions and actions alone, and only insofar as they damage person or property. Probabilities are something for insurance companies to assess on a competitive and voluntary basis.

This is why the campaign against "racial profiling" has intuitive plausibility to many people: surely a person shouldn’t be hounded solely because some demographic groups have higher crime rates than others. Government should be preventing and punishing crimes themselves, not probabilities and propensities. Neither, then, should we have driver profiling, which assumes that just because a person has quaffed a few he is automatically a danger.

In fact, driver profiling is worse than racial profiling, because the latter only implies that the police are more watchful, not that they criminalize race itself. Despite the propaganda, what’s being criminalized in the case of drunk driving is not the probability that a person driving will get into an accident but the fact of the blood-alcohol content itself. A drunk driver is humiliated and destroyed even when he hasn’t done any harm.

Of course, enforcement is a serious problem. A sizeable number of people leaving a bar or a restaurant would probably qualify as DUI. But there is no way for the police to know unless they are tipped off by a swerving car or reckless driving in general. But the question becomes: why not ticket the swerving or recklessness and leave the alcohol out of it? Why indeed.

To underscore the fact that it is some level of drinking that is being criminalized, government sets up these outrageous, civil-liberties-violating barricades that stop people to check their blood – even when they have done nothing at all. This is a gross attack on liberty that implies that the government has and should have total control over us, extending even to the testing of intimate biological facts. But somehow we put up with it because we have conceded the first assumption that government ought to punish us for the content of our blood and not just our actions.

There are many factors that cause a person to drive poorly. You may have sore muscles after a weight-lifting session and have slow reactions. You could be sleepy. You could be in a bad mood, or angry after a fight with your spouse. Should the government be allowed to administer anger tests, tiredness tests, or soreness tests? That is the very next step, and don’t be surprised when Congress starts to examine this question.

Already, there’s a move on to prohibit cell phone use while driving. Such an absurdity follows from the idea that government should make judgments about what we are allegedly likely to do.

What’s more, some people drive more safely after a few drinks, precisely because they know their reaction time has been slowed and they must pay more attention to safety. We all know drunks who have an amazing ability to drive perfectly after being liquored up. They should be liberated from the force of the law, and only punished if they actually do something wrong.

We need to put a stop to this whole trend now. Drunk driving should be legalized. And please don’t write me to say: "I am offended by your insensitivity because my mother was killed by a drunk driver." Any person responsible for killing someone else is guilty of manslaughter or murder and should be punished accordingly. But it is perverse to punish a murderer not because of his crime but because of some biological consideration, e.g. he has red hair.

Bank robbers may tend to wear masks, but the crime they commit has nothing to do with the mask. In the same way, drunk drivers cause accidents but so do sober drivers, and many drunk drivers cause no accidents at all. The law should focus on violations of person and property, not scientific oddities like blood content.

There’s a final point against Clinton’s drunk-driving bill. It is a violation of states rights. Not only is there is no warrant in the Constitution for the federal government to legislate blood-alcohol content – the 10th amendment should prevent it from doing so. The question of drunk driving should first be returned to the states, and then each state should liberate drunk drivers from the force of the law.

November 3, 2000

Llewellyn H. Rockwell, Jr. , former publications editor to Ludwig von Mises and congressional chief of staff to Ron Paul, is founder and chairman of the Mises Institute, executor for the estate of Murray N. Rothbard, and editor of LewRockwell.com. See his books.

Copyright © 2000 by LewRockwell.com. Permission to reprint in whole or in part is gladly granted, provided full credit is given.
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