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Today is Saturday, July 10th, 2010 and it is now 844 PM here in Sagada, Luzon, Philippines.

Recap: Jackie and I have taken a short trip about half a day by auto to the northn part of Luzon, the cannabis capitol of this part of the world.

This entry: I had spoken just a tiny bit about how even this distant part of the Philippines has had problems with insurgency. I had also spoken about how despite the communist rebels and the permanant curfew the rebellion here has run out of sream. Silly me...About 12 hours ago 7 soldiers were killed in an ambush. I won't bore anybody talking about the nature of the war here, significantly different than that on Mindanao, 1400 km to the south.

The people here are very interesting. Just as on Mindanao there are a large number of Hilltribes. Likewise, Just as on Mindanao there is a catchphrase used to describe them collectively. On Mindanao the tribes themselves adopted the Bisaya word "Lumad," meaning "One born of this soil" to describe themselves collectively.

This self categorisation was adopted at a forum for 18 of these tribes held in Cotabato City, N.Cotabato Province in the late 1980s and is a unique case where the truly indigenous managed to take control of their own destiny, at least in this very small way. That is one tiny glimmer of home in what can certainly be a very depressing narrative.

The Hilltribes here on Luzon are known collectively as "Igorot" (Ee-go-wrote), meaning, "Of the mountains," or so I am told. I do know a bit about the northern tribes but nothing at all like I know the southern ones with which I am intimately involved (hahahah I guess literally since the Jacky episode hahaha).

The orthadox narrative has these islands originally populated by "Negritos," a Spanish term meaning "Little Blacks." Negritos can now only be found on Luzon, Mindanao and 2 islands in the Visayan chain because like all truly indigenous peoples they have always gotten the short end of the stick.

Their greatest number now live on Mindanao, simply because they were until 2 generations ago almost all, close to the stone age in terms of a way of life. When they came into direct contact with non-Negritos they had no resistance to diseases modern humans take for granted. Culturally it is much the same.

Imagine that you live deep in a rain forest in a leaf and branch shelter, hunting with bow and arrow and blow gun. You are aware that there are others, you see their tell tale signs and you meet isolated traders now and again. You have a couple of iron pots that are treasures to your family but that is it as far as modern conveniences go.

One season as you move towards your traditional season grounds you see an incredibly wide trail, wider than you have ever seen, has been plowed straight through the forest. Before you can see who or what has made such an incredible thing the people around you, your family, begin getting strange sicknesses and very quicly half your number dies.

2 months later your world, your way of life has been irrevocably lost.

One thing that I used to think about quite a bit when I first entered the outside world and learned about non-Jewish things (until age 11 I did not know a single non-Jew despite living in New York City), was a man called "Ishi."

Ishi was a so called "Native American" from a small tribe centered north of San Francisco, California. His small band was unrelated linguitically, to any other known tribes, and his way of life was extremely primitive (I hate that word but its all we humans have to convey the idea, sorry). The California Gold Rush wiped out his small tribe very quickly until only poor Ishi was left and one day he decided to live, to adapt.

He ended up actually living in a natural history museum as a living exhibit, in a typical 19th Century development. All alone, noone speaking his language, he was dressed up from time to time in European clothes to be paraded for philantropists and dignitaries but he spent most days in his small exhibit, fashioning arrows and other small primitive implements.

I suppose that was when I first became enamoured with anthropology though I wouldn't even know what that term meant until the army forced me into a secular education programme before they allowed me into Officers College.

The most amazing thing, in my mind? Today as I write this there are other "Ishis" in almost identical predicaments, the operative difference being that noone is paying to see them turn willow branches into arrows.

Not too long ago I was reading about a very small band living in the scrublands of Paraguay in South America. If I recall correctly, there was 1 male adult in his 20s, 2 related females a bit older, and 2 small children, all related. They, like Ishi, have no known connections to any other linguistic or cultural group. They had given up nomadism to try and eek out a very poor existence in a tiny patch of undeveloped scrubland perhaps 20 km square, as soybean producers (huge factory farms of the type one only sees in Brasil and Paraguay) encroach more and more each day. The factory farms in this case are on all sides, and pushing in and before the farm paramilitaries could exterminate this band, which is exactly what they do in such cases, Activists took their cause to heart (1 of the few times I have seen "Activists" actually do a really good thing). They have gained scientific attention, thankfully (since it will ensure that they have the best chance for survival) and it is hoped that they have already managed to gain some resistance to European diseases because of the (until recently) very gradual encroachment.

What is in store for such a group, if they do survive? Well, given the wonderful character count our betters here at BL have implemented, I will have to leave THAT for a subsequent entry though, since curfew kicked in exactly 30 minutes ago, I am sure that the entry will be today (if I don't consume anymore of that hash oil).

Today is Saturday, July 10th, 2010 and it is now 123 AM here in Sagada, Mountain Province, Luzon.

Recap: Last entry saw me pondering why I continue to post at BL, thought it is still not clearly defined. Hahaha.

Since returning to Luzon and the Metro Manila area, I have been trying to keep my distance from Jackie, hoping she will just move on with her life, anything I thought I felt being a quickly receeding dot in my rearview mirror.

I got her a 2 bedroom house in Quezon City, about an hour away by auto barring traffic. Her bestfriend from childhood, whom she had contacted (stupidly given her gameplan for life) put her onto an auntie, or cousin, or som such relation who knows a person who knows a person who happened to be renting a 2 bedroom home.

The cost is 2,800 Pesos a month, about 53 Euros (56 US more or less). It is a squatter home, a house built on untitled land that becomes grandfathered in title. Essentially, in plain speak, the nation's urban areas were filled with squatter areas in the late 60s, early 70s and in the mid 80s when the Marcos Dictatorship fell, the new government trying to buy some "goodwill" went about a convoluted form of Land Reform.

People who had held these homes for considerable amounts of time were given title to them. These neighbourhoods have very poor or even non-existent infrastructure, high crime rates, so on and so forth.

All things considered the area Jackie is living in is pretty decent. She liked it, until Wednesday when she did her laundry. People here wash clothes by hand and dry them in the sun. She had put her things out to dry on a line in her rear yard. Upon returning to collect her things she discovered that a pair of sexy lace panties were missing.

Here is the conversation:

Jackie: Raki, you know, I did my laundry?

Rachamim: Good for you!

J: But something strange happened when I went outside to get my things, my favourite set of panties were missing!

R: Yikes!

J: I don't understand because I am sure that I put them on the line next to the door...

R: Some asshole stole your panties.

J: WHAT???

R: Helloooooooo! Never put undergarments in a place where strangers can view them. Would you walk down the street in your panties?

J: Are you crazy?

R: I am not asking you to do it. I am trying to get you to understand somethine.

J: What?

R: Men, most, are little more than dogs when it comes to such things. They see sexy lace panties, and especially when they see the attractive woman who lays them out they react without thinking. Most would never think of taking them but for a very few who have such impulses it is too tantalising a risk to NOT act on those base urges.

J: I don't understand a lot of what you are saying. Are you serious that men steal panties?

R: Not only do they do that, try to guess what they then do with your panties...in fact, guess what they are certainly doing at this very moment.

At this point Jackie became very quiet, and then burst into tears terrified. To calm her I invited her to take a trip I had been considering for about a week, to my present location.

Luzon is the largest island in this country. Sagada is about 14 hours north of Manila by auto and is one of the precious few places here that has frost owing to its very high altitude. I enjoy cooler air though this time of year it is much too warm for frost.

I will be leaving Sunday evening and am looking for a local courier to ferry me back a few kilos of very decent hashish, the only cannabis profuct I care for. Here you can get 10 grammes for 5 US if you buy in bulk. It is locally made and ranges in quality but always very decent. I just took a bit of hash oil on some biscuits (crackers to Americans).

Sagada is also the safest place in the country to partake of any substance but 2 towns away the first Anti-Cannabis Checkpoints begin (in addition to the CLA and NPA Checkpoints, 2 communist insurgencies that have pretty much petered out up here despite the place being under a permanant curfew from 10PM onwards). Ergo I will get a local to deliver it for me, pay him 20 US.

Over and out...

Its the depression that is the killer. I started getting high again and the after affects that fuck with me most are the depression and general inability to function on a day-to-day basis.

I picked up a few weeks ago and within that time period I began the process of loss. Relationships were the first to go. After that it was self-respect. Lots of things have impacted me in this last run and once again, I've caused more harm to myself and selfish disregard to those I care about.

It seems that I have some sort of nerve damage in my left hand. Its been puffy, painful and tingly for about 2 weeks now. I think I hit a nerve or some shit shooting that garbage. Oh well, I'll acclimate to the discomfort.

I'm done with the shit now and now I gotta rebuild again. I want to fix the broken relationships first but right now I think I need to focus on how I can correct how fucked in the head I am.

Its funny, when I was in rehab, before my discharge, my therapist mentioned that she had no doubt that I could beat the drugs but she was worried about my ability to accept the mental issues I have. She was right though, I just can not accept that I may have mental issues.

I've learned a lot from this run, I think. All I need to do is apply it.

For the history books:

Cat doing better today. More energy. No longer seems "depressed." Interacts better. Ate better. Wounds continue to ooze. Still giving her kitty morphine every 12 hours. That makes a big difference. Will take her back to vet saturday for another checkup.

Tried to do my usual 10 mile run home from work today. Felt run down and could only run about 5. Knee pain. Also, the sound of things rattling in my 1/2 filled daypack was annoying. I couldn't keep level enough to quiet it. Not enough sleep all week and have worked 14 hour days all week..

Today is Friday, July 9th, 2010 and it is now 904AM here in Sagada, Mountain Province, Luzon, Philippines.

Note on Deletion: I had whipped out an entry and upon reading it found it replete with the worst spelling I have had in quite a long time. Getting to a PC late last night I began editing it and then said fuck it, just deleted it.

In that entry...and per the title, I questioned why I bother with BL. I began posting here about 10 years ago (this is the 4th version of my screename, which is my actual first name). When I changed EMails the BL server wouldn't let me continue as is, or if it would I didn't understand how.

I originally joined because I am quite active in Harm Reduction. Although I became an opiate/opioid addict through medical treatment (bullet through my jaw at age 17 then shrapnel 9 months later, bring on the morphine), I was very conscious as to issues faced by illicit addicts as soon as my prescription ran out. All the more so when I found out at age 25 (1992) that I had acquired HCV (Hep-C). Ironically, I caught it via an unsterilised IV in the field (from a medic) at age 17, even before the virus was discovered.

So I joined...When Phreex (I guess I should add RIP) lobbied for, and got "Other Drugs" added to the site I pretty much confined my posting there for quite some time.

Phreex resigned as OD Mod because he said he couldn't stomach the same elementary questions being recycled over and over, said he felt he should get "Use the Fucken Search Engine" tatooed across his forehead. Though I always declined to Mod I too felt the same way but much worse, saw it as either vaccuous banter with noone paying attention or else pseudo intellectual olympics, pissing contests.

I felt there wasn't much point in sustaining the considerable efffort I had made there. I found though, that I enjoyed other forums, particularly CE and P (Current Events and Politics).

Lately though, even that forum has begun to get on my nerves. I guess it merely mirrors real life, but people aren't interested in dialogue, only in 1 upmanship.

What used to give me pleasure? Running circles around Mods, not intellectualy (I am not that intelligent or very well educated), but in common sensical things.

For example...A Mod whose name shall go unmentioned gave me a "Warning," my 1st ever about a month ago. Why? A poster from Australia who has ridden me for a good year called me a "Baby killing scummy mother fucker." My response? "How's life on the sheep station? Relax, pop another shrimp on the barbie while you watch the box set of 'Crocodile Dundee'.":

This got me a warning So I PMd the Mod,"You and I both know you are full of shit. A poster calls me a 'baby killing mother fucker,' I respond by calling him a 'sheep farmer' and I get a warning? Kudos, you must be very proud."

No response but since then this same Mod has been poking me with his hard on (the imagery might make me vomit). It is stupid, juvenile shit like that that makes me question why I bother putting time in to such an endeavour.

The proper response to this would be, "You get out what you put in," so on and so forth but I just question the whole "wasted time" thing. For example, if I had 24 hours to live, how much of it would I spend on BL? Hahahaha.

More to the point, we should all spend more time doing things we truly value. Though, in fairness, in the bush, in Mindanao, BL is proper recreation. One can only "talk to the animals" but so much before going absolutely daft.

Now that I don't spend most of time on that island though...well anyway it will work itself out I am sure.

I am in Sagada, the cannabis capitol of this nation and home to some decent hash and hash oil. Hippe Heaven for this part of the world.

I will write more about it in a subsequent entry.

A song I'm really feeling!

I'm falling apart again
And I can't find a way to make amends
And I'm looking in both directions
But it's make believe, it's all pretend

So...
Shed some light on me
And hold me up in disbelief
And shed some light on me
And tell me something that I'll believe in

It's innocence within the maze
But I have chosen the wrong way
I'm still getting over who I was
There's no sense of trust, there's no definition of love

So...
Shed some light on me
And hold me up in disbelief
And shed some light on me
And tell me something that I'll believe in

I know now, it's not who you are
It's who you know
And I see clearly now, which way to go
I remember the way I fell from above
And I recall the way I was

So...
Shed some light on me
And hold me up in disbelief
And shed some light on me
And tell me something that I'll believe in
Shed some ling on me
And hold me up in disbelief
And shed some light on me
And tell me something that I'll believe
Tell me something that I'll...
Tell me something that I'll believe
Tell me something that I'll believe
Something I'll believe

Abuser: felix.

Description of abuse: In an effort to make right with Bluelight, I submitted a thread on the idea of paying money to have infractions revoked. Even though I didn't break any rules, felix decided to abuse both me and his authority, and shut down the thread, thus preventing discussion.

Points: 1

The abuses committed against me started a little over a year ago. The first one I can remember was committed by Mariposa, and another then SLR mod (can't remember his name, but he had a Marine Corps EGA avatar, which means he abused his fellow Marine, Binge Artist). Some woman made a thread about becoming a hooker. One poster suggested that she become a "hand job only" type of hooker. So I suggested she become an "anal only" type of hooker. Although I recieved no formal abuses or warnings, I recieved a PM from both mods, in which I was called a "borderline troll".

The first BL staffer to officially abuse me was Leftwing. I made a post which asked a grammatical question, and was falsely accused of "solicitation". Leftwing admits he was drunk when he issued the warning. I begged and pleaded to have the warning reversed, but my pleas of mercy fell on deaf ears. Phrozen told me to just "move on, there were no points". I consider that comment an abuse in and of itself.

The next major abuse occured in OD Social. Unknown infracted me for racism, despite the fact that I am not a racist. In fact, my post was a reply to a post by Captain Heroin, which I later learned was a heartless act of baiting--he intentionally set out to get me into trouble. Again, I begged and pleaded to have the infraction reversed, but again, nothing but deaf ears.

Now, the next cluster of abuse came from a mod I didn't even know, Zzyxy (or something like that). CD Social was briefly shut down. When it started back up, I made a perfectly legitimate post. The post was even responded to by beta1, a CD moderator. But Zzyxz took it upon himself to abusively issue me a warning for said post. Since I felt he had an agenda, I gave him a harsh, but PRIVATE reply. And he abusively responded with an outrageous 2 point mod gun of an infraction. Since it was apparent to me that he didn't learn his lesson from my first reply, I gave him a second PRIVATE reply. Again, I got mod gunned with a 2 pointer, which led to a 3 day ban.

The next cluster of abuse came from one innocuous post about Jack Lalanne (a famous fitness instructor) in SLR. The chain of events was a mind boggling 4 warnings/infractions (two of which were reversed) by the evil, heartless and vindictive moderator Rogue Robot. I would include Noodle in the mix, but I learned from my insider sources that he was just Rogue Robot's pawn in this fiasco. And plus, he later sent me a friendship request, so I felt much better, and kinda view him in a positive light.

Today is Wednesday the seventh of July in 2010 A.D., the day of the
grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the
fellowship of the Holy Spirit; the day of the salvation, redemption,
providence, and blessing of the almighty Lord God Most High. If not
today then what other day is there?

Using my laptop. I found it in the trash 2 weeks ago and tried to fix
it up. It's a few years old and CPU usage @ 100%. Obviously I haven't
gotten all the bugs out. Typing this is slow.
Running "top" in a root shell shows that firefox is taking 1.4% of CPU
usage, xine is taking 96.7% of CPU, and various systme processes are
taking the rest. Xine looks like the culprit.

Update starting from Tuesday morning PPlanned to take Eloise Cat to
the vet agin. Couldn't find the cat. We looked around the house for 10
minutes and f before we found her. She had burrowed into the
insulation behind some boxes in the attic. Thios attic is accesib le
only by a ladder you pull down with a rope. She is not her usual
chipper self. She is not interacting with us and won't eat or drink.
Her nose was flushed pinkish and ears are warm. Her wounds are still
bleeding.

I loaded her into my backpack animal carrier and my gf and I rode her
to the vet on our bikes as neihter my gf nor I have access to a car at
this time. She usually yowls when she's in this carrier, but she's so
unwell, she just hunkered down quietly into the towel with her ears
back and nostrils flaired.

Weight still at 12 pounds. Body temp slightly higher but still in the
normal range. This was a relief (the normal range) as we suspected she
might be feverish based on the flushed nose and warm ears. This would
suggest her wounds have become infected. The vet tech cleaned her
wounds, injected her with more saline.

It was another vet today. Dr, B. He diodnt' seem like he was trhing
to push expensive medical procedures on us. He said it was definitely
not a coyote that mauled her. She wouldn't be alive if it had been.
Definitely a dog. He said at this point, she could go either way.
There is still no way to know. He said to bring her back tomorrow for
another check up and cleaning -- all that can be done at this point.

We took her home. She ate a full can of cat food today (after her
kitty morphine started kicking in.) She gave a few weak kitten mews,
purred for a minute, and slept the rest of the day.
.

Still Thursday, July 8th, 2010 and it is now 958 AM here in Makati, Luzon, Philippines.

Recap: Simply recalling how I began to develop feelings for Jackie, after it became clear that Rizza was shacked up with goiterman (I know, terrible of me).

OK...So...I have spoken quite a bit in other entired about trips I took home and how I have only returned here now, for good, because of Jackie having run away from home so that explains that sordid tale I reckon.

Why this title then? OK, well about 3 days ago, my last time on BL, I initiated 2 threads in CE and P forum. 1 was about a Viet Namese Acupuncturist slash Herbalist who claims to have found a tell tale sign of proof to ascertain male virginity. She claims that all males who have never had heterosexual intercourse have a tiny red dot behind their ear and that after sex it disappears. Homosexual relations and masturbation do nothing to it and she has used this form of "proof" to free 3 men convicted of gang rape.

The 2nd thread was about a 20 year Guaynese man who dug up his 75 year old neighbour 1 day after she had been interred, fucked her corpse in every orifice and stole the money and jewels she had been buried with according to Hindu custom.

Nice, yes? Both absolutely true, both absolutely recent, but as with every I post I purposely did not set a hyperlink.

It has always been my deeply held opinion that people retain that which they work for. Think about it, when you are given 50 Dollars, or when you earn 50 Dollars, do you value them the same way? You value that which you earn, of course.

I have been through this with Mods literally dozens of times over the years, and because some agree with me, but mostly because there was no rule saying I could not, they have always left me alone about providing a hyperlink.

Silly me, sometime over the years some sharp tool added a rule that a hyper link must be at the top or at the bottom of the initial post in a new thread.

Now that is OK, I respect the need for rules, even though with which I don't agree though in this case I do see the utility in demanding a link simply because other less honest people can start pulling shit out their ass and claim it is a genuine news event.

When I signed on today I had 2 PMs (I always have several but these 2 in particular) from Mods whom I will not name out of Spork's abhorrence of talking about posters and Mods behind their backs (sorry I am chuckling with that one for some reason, just seems like such juvenile bullshit, talking behind backs and all) .

1 of the Mods took the time to show me a but and psted copy of the rule, which is cool cause I actually didn't know some anal retentive clown had added it, but when I went back to the forum, I was a bit suprised. A 3rd Mod who has a problem with me (apparently) had closed both (assuming it was for that afore mentioned "rule").

I said to myself, why do I even bother with this bullshit? I came to BL when I was 31, I am now 43. I came out of my deeply held support for Harm Reduction but it has been years since I posted more than 5 posts in any drug related forum in any 12 month period.

I guess one gets acustomed to a website, like anything else but the women in my life find th site repu,sive, or else think it a total waste of time (given the women in my life that is probablly in BL's favout).

There are indeed very nice people but I am trying to sort out what exactly drives me to continue posting here?

I think I dig the Blog, it is kind of cool to look back and remember a time more vividly but even that, why?

One thing I have noticed in the time I have been here, most people don't stay long, and most people approach this as some sort of pissing contest.

Maybe time for a change? Then again, over the years I have had this feeling before. I remember when Phreex (I should say RIP or something) voiced his emotions as he voluntarily gave up Moderating the forum he was instrumental in creating, "Other Drugs," saying that when you feel like garroting a poster for asking a question the 10th time in 6 months its time to hang it up. Me feeling fed up over a Mod having a hard on for me? That's not me hahahaaha but maybe if I don't throughly enoy an effort, best not to put forth an effort?

Oh, let me explain why the unnamed Mod has that proverbial "hard on." There is a poster, nameless of course, from Australia. The poster has ridden me for a good year and as always I have been extra-civil.

After the 9 terrorists, I mean "Activists" were killed by the IDF as that ship tried to contravene the Israeli Blockade, he posted that I (meaning me personally) was a "baby killing scum" with the requisite 4 letter words. OK, my response? I told him that I hoped life on the sheep station had gotten a bit more exciting since he had gotten the "Crocodile Dundee" boxset and a box of frozen shrimp for the "barbie" (or some such vaccuous shit).

I received my first ever "BL Warning" for that hhahahah. So I PMd the Mod, and I said, "You and I both know you are full of shit. A poster rides me for a year, calls me a "baby killin scummy motherfucker" and I reply by telling him he eats shrimp, watches DVDs and farms shrimp...and I get a "Warning?" I closed by saying "Whatever" and laughing.

Since then, "hard on" hahahahahaha.

So juvenile.Anyway, why DO I bother? For the life of me I cannot figure it out and that is eating away at me. IF I didn't engage this site I could spend a maybe 10 or 12 hours a week doing something truly productive, like sitting with my thumb in my ass as I listen to Jackie talk about how "honesty is important," or at synagouge listening to my cousins complain about Filipinos...I don't know, maybe I will think of some redeeming reason.

Today is Thursday, July 8th, 2010 and it is now 927AM here in Makati, Luzon, Philippines.

Recap: Rizza and I having returned from Thailand and Cambodia, to Mindanao in late March, 2008...and how my relationship with Jackie began to change at that point.

2007 and 2008 were tough times on Mindanao, well, when is it not tough? The govt. was engaged in a very slow peace process with the MILF (Moro Islamic Liberational Front), the largest Islamic insurgent force in the country. I arrived July 5th,2007 if I recall correctly, and on July 10th on Basilan Island (a province of Mindanao) a group of AFP Marines were going out for a snack and ended up killed and decapitated (14 killed, 10 decap.). This opened up a very bloody 2 years.

It was a great time to start a paramilitary in the Southern Philippines (sounds like a song).

By March of 2008 I was back in the family compound and meeting almost nightly over the force I was building. This of course meant a lot of frequent trips to Camp Evangelista, and Jackie.

Now the whole time, I had believed she was separated, had just had her 2nd daughter but was intent on making a life for herself. I honestly still had no inclinations beyond friendship and that is where it stayed until I got an EMail from a doctor friend of mine back in New York who told me about a treatment that was having phenomenal success with my genomic Hep-C.

Hepatitis-C, at that time, 2008, was only really thought to have 3 genomes (a "genome" being a "strain" of a particular virus). With this new treatment, trademarked, "Pegasys" (pegylated interferon 1 injection weekly coupled with 2 daily dosages of encapsulated Ribivarin), I was looking at an 87% cure rate, a "cure" being a negative blood test for the virus.

I began shopping for tickets to New York, trying to get my local affairs in order (I have a fertiliser manufacturing plant, majority share in our mills, I lease 200 hectatres of my own land and advise the family with a lot of other things. In addition to that I was about to stock my goat farm and of course, the paramilitary.

I really didn't want to leave but 87% was a really good chance...

So, next trip out to Camp Evangelista I mentioned it to my friend Jackie and I could see it affected her. I told her if she wanted we could EMail back and forth, and while she wanted to she still seemed down about the whole thing.

I left the 2nd week in April I believe, went to New York, which is pretty well recorded here except for my communication with Jackie. It wasn't long after I arrived in New York that Rizza flew the coop but the family wouldn't tell me.

After about 4 months they really couldn't hide it anymore and I found out. Stress is a big thing with inrerferon, a form of chemotherapy that has some wicked side effects. Many people on it end up on what Americans call SSI, a sort of dole for sick people.

I handled it quite well, even when I found out what Rizza had done, but the stress internalised. I tested at 110,000 units when I arrived for my viral load.

3 months into treatment I was at 10,000. Oh I was full of myself, "I have this shit whipped" I though, blah, blah and blah. 3 months later, my next test? 74,000...

The last 3 months were when I found out what really happened, and when she started playing with me. She would tell me, "I am going home tomorrow, I swear." I would then call up the family and they would weep with happiness, even I shed some tears, the first 2 or 3 times anyway. She would play some really nasty shit.

At the same time Jackie and I were EMailing and then she brought a PC. In the Philippines, a PC can cost half a year's salary. Her "ex," or whatever one would call him now that this clusterfuck is out in the open, makes a bit over 10,000 Pesos a month, a lot for the Philippines but about 200 to 230 US depending how weak the Dollar is.

For her to get it, it was quite a sacrifice, and I was impressed because I believed I was the only person she talked to (Who knows? Maybe I was?).

Things began to change. I am not into "online" whatever, but I thought at the time that she and I were in similar circumstances, with her story being that her "ex" had impregnated some other girl, she had found out accidentally, etc.

We began IMing daily (having begun to IM when she got her PC), and then IMing for long periods of time. Finally, after I discontinued my interferon, I began to consider taking a trip home to see her.

I stayed in NY because I felt that if I returned home in that state of flux things might get very "hairy." It was better for the family that people would constantly ask me (and them) why Rizza wasn't with me, etc.

I will continue...

(Edited for spelling)

Today is Monday,July 5th, 2010 and it is now 134PM here in Makati, Luzon, the Philippines.

Recap: Discussing the NPA, the Moaist Insurent group here in the Philippines, as I attempted one of my de riguer 'long and extremely drawn out' vignettes...this 1 particularly about how I met Jackie.

What is with my title you ask? Well thanks for asking! I have decided to change my name. I think "Rachamim Ra'anan Ben Ami" is not exactly easy on the Western tongue (Oooooh, I love those Western tongues!). I have decided, after much pondering and banging of my literal head against the proverbial wall...that my new name shall be... TRISTRAM SHANDY!

I would imagine that of my 3 readers (wink) the lot of you may not be up to speed on 18th Century literati, so let me expound. "Tristram Shandy"is a literary character of an 18th Century best seller. He spent 2 years writing about the first 2 days of his life...JUST LIKE ME.

The beauty in it is that he did so for exactly the same reasons (as our hero Rachamom). He was forever fretting about context and fore knowledge. For example, my discussion about a trip to the mall easily devolves into a 3 entry spiel about the Islamic Insurgency simply because I carelessly mention a Checkpoint. I am always concerned that people reading this will be at a loss to understand what I am writing about so I try to colour in the background, the context. What usually happens is that the reader is lulled to sleep by the semi-retarded bleating coming out of my forefinger (Aaahhhh precious finger, stories you could tell!).

Back to my entry...

So the afore mentioned paramilitaries are filled with hilltribesmen like Jackie's dad, who like their fellow tribesmen populating the NPA, serve under "civilised" officers. The word "civlised" is relative, in terms of Western thinking because some of the Christian Filipinos are less civlised then the Hilltribesmen they lord over.

I became involved with the Higaon-on Tribe because of my own paramilitary, and because of a role I played, that I am not at liberty to discuss. Part of my responsibilities however involved meetings at Camp Evangelista, the base where Jackie was born and raised.

At one of those meetings a Higaon-on NCO (Non Commissioned Officer) invited me to Barangay Patag, on base. "Barangay" is a word I have already discussed, and it basically translates as "neighbourhood," or "village."

We ended up going to Jackie's family's house to visit with her father. He was orphaned at age 7, having lived with among his tribe, then still very much nomadic, hunting monkeys with blowguns and all that fun stuff.

His mum had died when he was born, still a huge problem in this country, the people are small, the babies heads are large and noone is going to be soing a Caeserian deep in the bush with a rusted pocket knife. At age 7 his father died in inter-tribal warfare.

He was abandoned at a mission, times were lean (Hilltribes practiced slavery into the 1980s and human sacrifice always used slaves so he is lucky that he was not enslaved).

At the mission they contacted his auntie who had married a Bisaya soldier. The Bisaya have been "civlised' since the late 1600s. This enabled him to begin schooling for the first time but at age 13 his uncle enlisted him into the AFP (Armed Forces of the Philippines).

He served about a good 3 decades and was wounded badly in a firefight against the MNLF (Moro National Liberation Front), the original Islamic insurgency in the Philippines, in the late 1970s.

He had 4 sons, and 4 daughters, Jackie being the youngest daughter, the 2nd youngest child (the speed freak is the youngest child, a son).

When we visited Jackie was visiting from her home around the corner and though she couldn't take her eyes off of me I was married and wasn't even thinking along those lines. That was in September of 2007.

From then until after Xmas, when Rizza and I left for Thailand and Cambodia, I was at Camp Evangelista at least once a week, going through the motions in building a credible structure for my paramilitary. Most times I ended up seeing her and we would talk in a general and friendly way. When I left for the mainland (Thailand) I never discussed it with her and so she faded from memory during my 3.5 months in Pnohm Pehn.

Coming back in very late March of 2008 things began to change slightly...In true Tristram Shandy fashion, I will offer up a another large helping of cock and bull in my next diamond studded entry!

Monday update: my gf's cat was mauled Sunday night. [her skin was ripped and bleeding in several places and the fur was scraped off in other places]
My gf and I discussed this and I took the risk ... not realizing that such a wound, a puncture wound to the abdomen, could become septic overnight... We would take her to the vet first thing in the morning.

Monday (yesterday): We waited until morning to take her to the vet at 7am when they opened. --- She (Eloise cat) slept on the day bed in the basement that night. She usually sleeps with us. She bled out pinkish lymph.

The next morning, we loaded her into a cage and took her to the vet. Immediately, the situation at the vet was disconnected and out-of-sync with what was going on with the cat.

In the waiting room:
Vet tech: Is this Eloise (we had just called and made an appointment)? Has she had an ID chip implanted yet? Would you like to get her an ID chip?

We told the vet tech "no" and that the cat needed to be looked at and treated for her wounds. So she led us into the vet's examination room:
She weighed in at 12 pounds. Normal body temperature. Shaved the wounds and cleaned and visually inspected them. Took X-rays. They revealed black spots in the wall of her abdomen. The spots outlined the imprint of a jaw, the top and bottom half on either side of the cat's abdomen. The vet, Dr. F___ explained that these were air pockets where the tissue lining her abdomen was ripped and possible punctured. An animal the size of a medium dog or coyote did it. I've seen both types of animal moving through the backyard recently. Dr. F said the wound went all the way through, puncturing the abdomen, but this was not obvious visually. They had to run another test for abdominal fluid type or something to determine this.

Then Dr. F__ left and came back in a few minutes with a handful of printouts with prices for several treatment options.....He recommended hospitalizing th4e cat for the next several days, doing "exploratory surgery" on the second day without even knowing if it is necessary, and continuing to monitor Eloise's condition. Mentioned danger of fatty tissue necrosis. If that set in, he would have to euthanize her as nothing can be done in that case. My gf started crying. He seemed very eager to hospitalize her and especially do the surgery, someting that would run the his bill well over $1000. He disappeared into the back again while my gf and I thought about what to do.

My gf and i talked about this.... we weighed the options
Dr. F's eagerness to conduct expensive "exploratory" surgery made us both wary. (We were already puzzled by the vet tech who was pushing microchip implants.) Also, nobody is at the vet after 7 pm and tfhe cat would be unattended if somethign happens. Not only that, but while hospitalized here, she would yowl and be stressed - the loud noises of machinery and other animals, dogs, the tiny cage, unfamiliar surroundings,,,,,

Better to keep her in familiar surroundings where we could watch her oursleves, we decided. .. Less stress, animals and humans heal more quickly in pleasanter surroundings. I read that in JAMA or Nature or New Scientist or someplace similar... and we would call and all-night hospital if somethign happens..

We told the vet of our decision. He seemed disappointed and said this wasn't the best medicine and gave us a little lecture.... so he took her in back again to prepare her to go home. He injected her with saline since she wasn't eating. I assumed the vet meant an iv until I saw a huge bleb, a huge pocket of saline they had injected under her skin on one side. It was leaking out a little bit from her wounds -- you could tell when we picked her up from the towell she was on. Gave her antibotics. Sent us home with several syringes of kitty morphine and several cans of cat food containing an additive that makes it so appealling to cats that even the sickest cat can't resist eating it.

We gave her one dose of the pain killer. She perked up and stood up about 1/2 hour after the shot. Tried to be normal after the kitty morphine. 2 a day, every 12 hours under the tongue. Was try8ing to socialize with us.made a tiny meek little kitten meow. Even purred, but only for a minute. Then she ate 1/2 can of the special cat food. That's all she ate that day. They are small cans. She slept most of the day and night.

Today has been horrible. Today is July 4, 2010. The weather is chilly and cloudy here in the Pacific Northwest. I didnt' go hiking or mountain climbing this weekend because it's probably snowing where I want to be. So, I'm wearing my winter coat as I sit and type this in my workshop. It's cold. I'm not used to keeping a journal. Typing this on a 2 year old desktop computer I found in the trash a while ago.

I am very kratomy today. My ears have a slight uncomfortable pressure and spastic ticcing, and they feel congested like from an opiate hangover. Listening to old Dead Can Dance on tinny computer speakers.

My gf and Iwent to a 4th of July party. When we left, we left the window open as usual so the cats could go outside. My gf's friend Nina hosted the party. 1/2 the people there were speaking spanish. I know only 500 words, (all I could memorize on a flight to South America last year) just enough to get the gist of what is going on, but not enough to participate.The food was great. Barbeque ribs and homebrew wine and beer. We brought potato salad and beer.

When we got back,my gf noticed blood on the blanket where her cat Eloise had just she had been laying.

I got the cat who was now hiding behind a bench and inspected her. She has what looks like jaw marks on her abdomen. She has a puncture on her abdomen about 1 inch long and several fang-sized sp5ts scraped free of fur. The puncture goes all the way through her skin.

I got some hydrogen peroxide and neosporin to clean her. As I was doing this, I moved the skin a little and noticed that there is another large punctureee and goes deep into the muscle of her abdomen. It's filled with clotted blood and I can't tell if it goes all the way through. I poured on some hydrogen peroxide and then put on the neosporin. I was reluctanct to do this because, if the wound goes all the way through, anything getting in there could cause more problems.

Shiny, dried saliva outlines the rest of the jaw. Its about the size of a medium size dog. She seems very sedated. Just wants to sleep and won't interact with anybody.


We will take her to the vet the first thing in the morning.

too many things can change so abruptly.

like my face vainly clinging to that smile of a funny joke, then it's gone because nothing is normal. i want this for her but this bubble of panic pops continuously as i consider doing anything at all.

last night i couldve collapsed if i had gone in there. laughing mouths full of intoxication and funny things to remember. i knew if i took one sip i would have been obliterated. the joys of hilarity are sparse when thrown from normality. it's a homesick feeling that i dont think i could ever get use to. so i went home where home wasnt home.

with her tiny hands she gripped my finger as i dressed her for the day, still dripping with suds from the splash bath she loved. all the world was wrapped in a red towel. all of me lying on the bathroom floor, tickling and laughing and loving so much.

she's gotten older and so have i. i was little more than a child myself, but i knew then that this little bundle of grabbing and tearing was the best thing that had ever happened to me. her laugh is my laugh.

she has every bit of his face. those dark, concealing eyes too playful for sitting still are so solid and cold when he wears them. an immediate contrast of the same color. i loved him in all the ways someone so young could, but i only knew so much of worldly things. i thought he was perfect...and so did he.

now there's a piece of me off juniper and my world has been tilted so far that everything is still normal but not at all. five days doesnt warrant much but when those five days drag on, each minute pulling five years, im lost to my own longing for her tiny hand in mine.

they say the little things are what's most important and i dont think i could feel that anymore than i do now. at night im in my room drawing and i hear a creek in the floorboards. i look up at the door as i usually do intending to see a little nightgown in the doorway. a little hand on the door knob with a little sleepy face looking over a little shoulder mumbling about mean rabbits chasing gubby. that's her giraffe, a blue one, her first one. the weight of her molding to me as i lift her into the nook of my own shoulder and the not wanting to put her down until i feel satisfied with numerous squeezes.

"tell me about the bird and the boy and the friendly monster..."

the bird, the boy, and the friendly monster met a tiny man in a considerably small glittering silver suit. when he laughed he laughed so hard and so loud that a huge swirling bubble blew out of his mouth. when it popped it turned into a million birds of every color and they flew far into the sky to dance with the moon and kiss the stars.

So, I was ranting on a board, was told I should'nt rant there, just peeve. So I started a "rant only" thread, but then I was told it's okay to rant in Peeves or go to another place.... I give up. I'll only peeve in Peeves and Rant right here. My own place.

I've lived an interesting life, been almost everywhere, done almost everything, and have some unbelievable stories to tell.... I'll probably write a book one day.
It seems, that based upon my appearance, or my soft, polite voice... the way I was raised in school to speak with manners, that people try to fuck with me almost on a weekly basis...... which then leaves me no choice but to show a side of me they weren't expecting.
Example: I called my mortgage company. The automated lady doesn't recognize my phone number. So she asks for my SS number, again.... doesn't recognize it. I finally get to press "zero" and wait to speak to some man who hardly speaks English. I tell him the first problem, not recognizing my phone number or SS number. He puts me on hold. 12 full fucking minutes go by. Luckily I have unlimited minutes. He cones back.... I repeat the prior sentence. No response... because he had no clue what I just fucking said.... his little computer screen doesn't have the key word "unlimited minutes", I'm betting. He asks me for my fucking loan number. I'm driving. I tell him so. Isn't that what my fucking SS number is for or my home address.... you know, the address I'm paying the mortgage on???? The idiot finds my loan finally. I start asking about a charge... the reason for my call.
He starts picking a fucking fight with me about not having my loan number.... I swear I just told him I was driving. I shouldn't really even be on the phone at the same time!
That's IT! now I have to be a bitch.
I tell him:
First of all, YOU not having MY correct information in your system isn't my fucking fault... I'M the customer, I've paagent first and SECOND mortgage to you for 6 years now!!Fix It. It's your job, not mine!I then demanded to be transferred to someone BORN in the United States, because I'm sue there is no way you're going to understand why I'm calling.
I get a woman with a good 'ole southern accent. She helps ne understand why my mortgage payment had $42.00 in "extra fees due". A letter explaining it would have been nice.... so I pay the 42 bucks right then and there. Now why in the world did that have to turn into such a big ordeal???? WTF

I'll treat this like a little update since I haven't posted to the el-blog-o for a while now. I've been too freakin busy. Working full time and taking staining/painting jobs on the side (which basically amounts to about 30 additional hrs each week so far) is wearing my ass out.

But, alas, I did finish my first professional "job" for a "client." I still feel like I'm just some dude showing up at peoples' houses, staining their decks. Whatever. I got paid $500 for less than a week's work. SOooo, last night I celebrated. I took her out to eat for thai and sushi and had a few beers and a fat joint before bed. All in all, a good time had by everyone.

I do need to make business cards to leave with satisfied customers. Advertising is another important step that I think I might have figured out, at least for what I'm doing right now. I have a friend who runs a paper route that could stuff fliers in all his route's papers. That would definitely get my name out there with absolutely no investment. If i didn't know this guy, i wonder how hard it would be to pay off a delivery guy to stuff his papers with fliers.

"SWIM" is selling weed again too. It's fun. I'm smoking buds for free, not trying to turn a profit but more of just a hook-up my friends for a free bag per week operation.

SAturday, 2 days ago, <i went for a wlak in the park.

Twilight. [fast, ragged clouds flying in so low that they intermittently engulf Sutro Tower and even the tree tops on that hill. Smell of eucalyptis on the cold wind.] <i was high. A police cordoned off area [on the north side of the path and pond before you get to the "cave" that goes udner a park service road]. Even a detective standing there. SEveral squad cars and otehr city cops standing around. This was at the park entrance wehre the panhandle meets the park prper. Some guy walks up to a tree nearby and pisses.


<past the bowlign lawn club, somebody comes out fo the busehs, and smashesa bottle ont he path. Still dusk.
yeah, she´s been clean over a week now....

gf is panicking now. walking back, the cops drive out and .... <dope market´s open for business again."[says somebody standing on stanyon at the park entrance]
<haight
A filthy stew bum pissing in the trash can behind the bus stand.[on Haight st. across from the mcdonalds]
[a disheveled man sings:] Welcome to the Age of Acquarius the age of aquirius......

[a fat bum:] <you´re in the wroing part of town- <you should go north "

[teenage girl standing in doorway:] yeah peopel, we´re taking a shit on the sidewalk. give me some money.......

[the night of headline-making police shooting across the bay in oakland]

san jose costa rica

Right now I'm just really hating myself and seeing my life is a pathetic mess.
I feel like I'm falling into the "old PT" spin.
Full of excuses and no motivation to try to make changes.
I don't mean to discount everything. It just all feels so impossible.
I need a BIG change. I just don't know what....
I feel so out of control!

To be 24, or turn 25: that is the problem:
Is it better to suffer inside
Through whores and panic attacks you don't deserve or desire,
Or to pick up a gun staring toward the sea of bullshit that's become your life,
Curing the problem by facing it? To die: to sleep;



tick tock.. two n a half hours to go...

Goin for a ride. grab something to drink