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Today I am better than yesterday but still I see some degradation of motor control, speach is fine, balance is alright but I won't be joining the circus like planned at 2yrs old. Degradation of fine motor skills including hand-eye coordination. I can still type obviously but for how much longer I don't know. Blackouts are more frequent, as well as "light headed" feeling. The rush of the light headed feeling back to reality is kind of a rush but I rather not have it, tuvm.
I still have no word on my MRI, as I might have said prior that it can take up to or more than 3 months to get an appointment.
I need to talk to my doctor, or maybe I should save it for my neurologist appointment but that's next month (March 11th). I'm sure it will come up at my Psychiatrists first appointment (February 25th) at the Anxiety Clinic down on 250 College Street. Dr. Stephen Sokolov, I wonder what to expect of him, from what I read that he is VP of medical Affairs at CAMH. Wow, I feel speshal now /sarcasm.
All i can do is yawn all fucking day, and Im not even fucking tired.
I swear if I end up in a bib and dribbling on myself, someone come on by and put me to sleep permanantly. Seriously. Not a fucking way to go man. I watched my granparents go out wit ha whimper, actually my grandmother kinda faught to her stubborn core, she refused food for 2 months, she was GTubed and IV fed and Ensure before they realized their fuck up because she had a DNR Order. Then they just let her go. She died in front of me probably arguing with St. Peter himself.

Ive been talking in my sleep again aparently. So that means, well..... yeah.... I told someone *aheam* Yeah and so yeah Mr. Whaa Whaa wasn't to happy. How the fuck is it that I can not even see you for 4 months and not think of you for a month really, and now I'm calling out your name at night.....fack! I guess its good you dont read this, talk about an ego booster.

Even my brain is epic fail.

FACK.

You were never there for me when I needed you, every single time you were fucked up and high. So of course when I need you the most, you don't know because you are too caught up in your life and the lifestyle. You always said i would follow in line with nick, how true it might ring now but you know what? You will never know cause you know why? I rather mom not know, it would literally drive her insane. more so than she is.

Happy Birthday Dad. I love you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoLFISIdH8g

Time tio pull my fucking head into gear. Month after month I run out of medication early and leave myself suffering for up to 3 weeks until I receive my next script. IVing ridiculous amounts of morphine in such short time frames. Using over 500mg in a day sometimes, tolerance sky rocketing and making stabilizing back on tramadol and codeine that much more painful each time. It used to be almost pain free switching back to tramadol. Not now, not now that I’ve picked up my nastiest habit since the fentanyl escapades.

It mightn’t be much compared to a lot of people, but when I’ve got chronic pain and I’m fucking myself over in this vicious cycle, it hurts badly physically and emotionally. Each time it seems I’m closer to reaching for the rope and heading down to the river to find a nice tree.

It’s got to end this moment. It’s time to take control again, to learn self control. It’s been going on for about 3 years now. Who in their right mind would do this to themselves over and over? I’m lucky I haven’t fucked up a pill count yet and been kicked off altogether. Piss tests are no worry to me because I don’t use any street drugs other than weed and my doctor endorses it.

I guess I just wanted to get this off my chest and begin the quest to take control again. I guess I’ll keep updating this weekly or every few days with how I’m managing and feeling.

I feel pretty vulnerable right now, I’ve never shared a blog before let alone let another person read my diary, so go easy on me guys.

I have this as an open letter to you, in the just in case scenerio. I have to wait 3 months for my MRI lovely huh? While some forign shitstain can be eating away at my brain. Meh that's Ontario Healthcare for you. Hey, do you want me totally out of your life? I dunno anymore, much of anything.
I fucked up, I AM fucked up. We both have our issues. can we grow up and realize we are both adults here and get over the stupidity that wasn't completely MY fault, it takes 2 to tango babe, and it didn't help that I was on behaviour altering medications that YOU KNEW would fuck me up for a good few weeks, I even TOLD you they would. Yet you say you want to continue what we have but yet as soon as some girl you used to date comes into town i become old news.
I am not sour, just confused, I actually believed you when you said you loved me. I guess your joke fell short on me, cause I don't understand. Now I can't even talk to you, I've been asked to leave you alone and wait for you to contact me. You know what though sweetheart, maybe when asking that of someone.....make sure they might not be on a life altering time limit....as in you know..... possibly DYING! Im sorry if I seem sour here, cause I am not, I am just confused. Can we just cut out the bullshit and tell the truth, you know Im not a fragile pettle sweetheart, I can take rejection when I know you mean it. Then again I just risked a save-able relationship, children, and sanity to be with you. Yet you seem to act like you were the risk taker in it all. I guess I talked to much about me and didn;t listen enough to YOU. I've always been there for you, when we were on better terms, I was always fucking there.....good or bad. Cause that's how friends roll. Im not angry, please don't think that. Im far from angry at you. Never have been angry. Just confused. Ok I was a little angry at first and said some horrid things to you that I never meant. You helped me realize that I need to better myself to be the better me, the saner me, and because of you I am on my way to being healthy in mind but this old body might give out sooner than hoped. You always said you would die young, but it seems that I might beat you to the punch.....who knows. I hope fucking not, that would fucking suck.
Dude, I fucking miss you. Its been a hell of a bore without you around and in my life. I miss the cuddles and falling asleep together, watching movies, and munching on junk food and walking and talking for hours on end. I miss everything though you could never understand why I ever stayed around. It was you, you were beyond what you thought about yourself, a sweet man with a good soul and handsome/sexy didn't help any matters.....that and both of our perverted minds and flirtations. Mutual morbid humor perhaps? LOL
I wish you would just MSN me, I miss you tons my friend, and hope that this "friend" who is relaying messages is right and you will contact me someday, and hopefully its not some day too late.
If nothing else besides friendship, all I wish is forgiveness for my psycho act. I miss your face, your eyes, your sly quirky shy smile. I used to love to cuddle and touch your face, your hands, your body.
At a time I need a REAL friend the most, and no one is here..... I feel so alone.
You used to come in here, I don't know anything anymore, I wish I did still know what to expect from you but after that sly drop out from left feild, I don't think I really ever knew you at all, besides what you told me about yourself.
I really don't know anything anymore...... I don;t even know why I am writing this.....
Are you still online? I dunno.... I just felt like writing to you, after all I am the psycho one jah?

I guess I just needed to talk. Maybe. maybe I just needed to say for the millionth time that I miss you. I can wait as long as you need but I dunno how long my body can function until that time arises, so i will just say I can wait..... but spare me the ever more hurt, if you dont ever want to see me again, just say so, ok?

I miss you, and that flea infested cat and I cannot lie, why should i lie when I have nothing left to lose really, I already look stupid here and you already called me psycho. I can;t help but to still love you. I thought you did too, at least that's what you said but then in front of the whole world practically you called me a psycho fall fling. Yes, that stung quite a bit. More so when just days before you were proclaiming love and "getting closer".

What the fuck do I know about men though huh? 2 failed engagements with men who were just the opposite of what you are.

I dunno what to think anymore.......

.......Tell me what to think huh bru.


Not that I expect a reply from you......ever.

I guess I am just hopeful, call me a fool I guess, I am hopeful things can be worked out.

*shrugs*

I know Im sorry might not be enough but fack I dunno what to say, or do, or think or want or fuck.....not a hellva anything.


P.S. I Heart You



Now I better get my ass to bed or I'll be a raging cunt in the morning and a pounding migrane da boot.

I hope you are safe and warm and happy and doing well.

FACK i better go before I start tearing up over..... i dunno.....

*sigh*

Awesome!

Valentines is usually a depressing holiday for me. Even in the past if I have had a valentine, it seems like forced affection that I'm trying to show and something fake about the whole thing, but this past Valentine was actually quite different. I spent this Valentine with my friend K who i've been seeing for a little while now. We work together so when we got off work we headed towards my place and stopped for some Italian food on the way there. There was no WAIT! and the food was pretty good, overall it was a good start. When we got to my place we let the food settle for a bit and planned on taking some Methylone, this was K's first time trying Methylone and my 3rd time.

We dosed the Methylone in gel capsules just after 8 p.m. We each took 200 mgs +/- 20 . The effects came on about 45 minutes later. There was a very gradual comeup and subtle peak unlike my past trial with this dose which was more speedy, probably because of the food. I played music for awhile and we talked to each other and opened up about our views on each other and life.. The best way to describe the substance is a feeling of being content. This experience was not terribly exhilirating like Ecstasy, nor did I feel drowsy and out of it like opiates. K actually said while listening to some music "I'm not terribly high right now, but I would probably be bored if I was not on anything sitting here like this listening to music" which was a good assessment. Downtempo electronic and rock music was played throughout the first couple of hours. There was some nice closed eye images with the music, i hesitate to call them patterns or visuals because it was much subtler than other psychedelics, it felt like a caressing stimulation of mental waves.

At 10 we decided to dose another 125 mgs. She dropped hers at 10 and I snorted mine at 10:15 because she wanted to peak together. We continued to talk and we got slightly more elevated in stimulation and euphoria with the bump. At about 11:00 we had sex and it was probably the most euphoric sex that i've had on any substance. I had trouble reaching climax like E,so it was probably tied with mescaline for overall pleasure since I actually came when I wanted on Mescaline. I definitely preferred the sensation of sex over E though which I was quite surprised by. We cuddled and basked in a euphoric afterglow of sexual pleasure and the waning effects of the methylone.

At midnight as the main effects of the methylone pretty much subsided, so I proceeded to smoke some salvia 10x. I was transported into a geometric 'underworld' where I still held thoughts of certain people in my life from the past and present, I almost had the impression they were there with me in that salvia space. I also had certain fleeting philisophical ideations most of which I had trouble bringing back with me. There was 1 idea that stuck thought and it's something I plan to keep to myself because the way it was presented seemed almost psychic in nature. As I've learned from past experiments Salvia is lengthened slightly by entactogens and I was in a very dissassociated state for about 7 minutes. When I came back, I told K to sit on the bed with me, I began to get in a meditative position and for the next 7-8 minutes I felt in a very spiritual/meditative state with the two energies of the substances combining. With eyes open I felt like I was floating at least a good 2-3 feet above my bed, but obviously I did not look down to ruin the sensation. With eyes closed I got geometric patterns rivaling any psychedelic I have previously done and the interesting thing i've felt about meditating on this combo is I can actually move through the patterns without being overwhelmed. The methylone seems to mitigate the negative aspects of the salvia body high I experience when I try salvia by itself. After about 15-20 minutes after smoking the Salvia I finally came down, trying to catch my breath from the astonishment of what just happened. I cuddled with K for the rest of the night and we fell asleep within the next hour.

I'm on 100mg of methadone. Will I die if I go cold turkey

Right here goes, you work it out...

I’ve been married for 21 years.
I wear my pants for two days in a row.
I've served half my life in the Royal Air Force.
I’m very very lonely.
I have a Jack-a-Doodle dog called Alfie.

I don't want to go to heaven. I've realized this for years. Of course, I don't believe in heaven so that probably has a lot to do with it. I'm just worried that I'll end up there on accident and I won't know anybody. So much for fear of abandonment.

The thing about heaven is that it's an unknown entity. You can't really say exactly what it takes to get in there. Yea, the bible references how we're supposed to be in this life to end up in paradise. But that's not specific enough for me. I'm worried I might be living the kind of life that'll have me in the clouds worshiping his holiness for my afterlife. Who knows, in Jesus's eyes I might be doing shit just right.

What I had in mind instead was the sort of ghostly haunting/lingering of this planet. I think I'd enjoy roaming around unnoticed, looking through people's things. I'd be ethical about it of course. I really think you could learn a lot about people spying on them, going through their medicine cabinets, their sock drawers. The truth about people is often hidden in their sock drawers or bedside nightstand tables.

I've always done this anyway. Some of my favorite times were when I was about 12 and my Dad worked third shift. I'd come home from basketball and there'd be nobody but me in the house. I went through ALLLLL his stuff. It was terribly amazing. I found nail clippers in the shape of a guitar (they're still on my keychain after 12+ years). I found t-shirts that were too small for anyone but me and they were awesome.

Last night I dreamed about stealing a bunch of checks from his dresser. I stole them, wrote and signed them, cashed them and bought a bunch of shit i wanted but very clearly didn't need. I remember back before my dad and i fell out, he thought I was stealing checks from him. It was his girlfriend @ the time in actuality but that doesn't change anything between him and me.

After the dream, I woke up and came downstairs. Then it became now and I'm ending up this post. Have a good day if you're reading this.

I found myself spilling my guts to my mother the other day about my drug use and I still am unsure as to exactly why I did that.
I was overcome with guilt of my continued opiate use and slipping grades. I was also consumed by the fear of never quitting, and always being a total bum. My dream is to go to SUNY ESF next fall semester and get the hell out of my crappy little hick town where the opiate scene is ruining everything.

I am on day 2 of going cold turkey after doing about 10-15 5mg OC generics a day from my friend who got into a car accident and sells part of his script, or this vietnam vet who sells part of is script. I lied to my girlfriend about why I wasn't in school, but I hope it's the last lie I have to tell.
My withdrawals aren't that bad, just the typical watery eyes and sneezing. My mother is watching me like a hawk and she told me she doesn't trust me. The last time I went to out-patient for opiates I hated my group leader. She didn't know shit about life, and I had no respect for her. So I told her that I don't need to go back to there, but I would be better off just joining a gym or something.
I signed up to the YMCA, but I have yet to go.
My favorite singer right now is Todd Snider and a very close second is Oliver Wood of the Wood Brothers. I find myself nearly crying every time I listen to some of their songs. They are just so damn well written.

Nothing changes and it never will.
Sun up sun down everyday stay the same.
Repetition, metaphorical erosion of the spirit.
Rusting promises like skin liable to chap.
Fate is the night light that burns our eyes out as we walk tightropes and dance in circles to the tune of our back's breaking under the weight of living up to potential.
Choke on the smell.

On and on, around and around.
Never missing a beat.
Soldering forward, away from what you truly aspire to be, or to do, or to see, for fear of pushing.
Sinking or sailing, flying or falling, cutting the waves.
Breaching the hull.
Soaring without effort.
Going down in flames.
No ports, no parachutes.

Today is STILL Wednesday,Feburary 17th, 2010 and it is now 745 PM here in Brooklyn, NY, USA.

To continue from my previous entry...

Jackie had her 2nd daughter, giving birth on the floor of her bedroom, which actually is pretty common in the Philippines. At least her family was near and was able to get a liscenced Midwife for her.

The child's father, her "Husband," was on Anti-Insurgency Ops in Gingoog, not too far but by then he was already living with his new girl (whom he may or may not have married) and their recent baby.

He told Jackie that he had arranged a "Legal Separation" from Shari'a Court (Islamic Court) in Zamboanga City. Under the Marcos regime a set of laws were created called the "Islamic Personal Laws." A Shari'a Court system was created but it was entirely voluntary. Indeed, as it turned out the "husband" had never even married her and lucky for him, it could lead to a prison sentence but enough of that for now.

She and her 2 daughters settled into their life...but Jackie began expressing deeper emotions to me when she found out that Rizza was "doing me wrong."

We then began IMing more and more and when I went back to Mindanao to discuss Rizza with her family, I went up to Cagayan and ended up spending 3 days at a hotel in town. See, in the Philippines, no matter your tribe, ethnicity or religion, or what your husband does, women are seen as vile whores if they have any other relationships.

Non-Muslims are subject to Ph Family Law. A great example being "Adultery." It is a crime punishable by prison but only for women. Muslims simply kill. Many non-Muslims also on Mindanao in fact. The word for gossip, or phrase, is "chikka chikka" and it is impossible for me to even go to her house though I am on base often enough.

On my second trip we spent 4 days, and since have been very close to say the least. I never accepted a women with kids before. In fact, the only other Filipina I was involved with besides Rizza was a minor celebrity in the country. A Pampangan (ethnicty from northern Luzon), she was a single mom and in the end I rejected her (took place during my first separation from Rizza about 8 years ago). She was wealthy, an ex-beuty queen (though getting a bit thick by then),and a great girl. I just did not want someone else's child. I know, it is selfish but there it is.

Jackie though...She makes me forget such things.

The intersesting thing though...Apparently the "husbands" new squeeze has had enough of him. He sent Jackie a letter through a squadmate in January. She ignored it. He then made plans to "visit" with his kids. She arranged to be elsewhere. He then showed up unannounced. She refused to come out and called her 1 of her brothers to handle it. The brother escorted the guy and his kids, end of story.

Then, last week, she was outside gardening and he showed up. He told her he and the other girl were over and he wanted to move back in. She laughed at him and said the only problem with that is that she did not love him and had moved on. He could not deal with it, followed her as she went inside and pushed himself into the house.

Locking herself in her bedroom with the girls, she could not get in touch with me. She also couldn't get in touch with her family, 2 rows of housing away since they do not have a phone (like most people on Mindanao).

When I did not hear from her for over a day I became concerned and called her. She was afraid to tell me what happened, fearing I would send someone to "handle" it. She would only cry, and would not tell me what was wrong. Crying, telling me how much she loved me...until finally I got the details out of her. I told her, look, you don't want me to "get it done," you better take the girls and go directly to your family. If he grabs you scream bloody murder (as in most if not all SE Asian Cultures there is a great fear of losing face).

The problem is, she never told her family about his fathering a baby outside the relationship, and carried immense guilt for having run away and getting involved with a Moro. She was petrified about asking her family for help, wracked with guilt.

I told her, you then have 2 choices, let me make a call, or bend over and play house again (am I not so poetic). She agreed she would go to the family and so she did.

He was asleep on the couch, secure in his manliness when both bros and father (also a soldier) came in with an uncle who is a policeman. She laughs as she recallas he looked like an owl. See Jackie is the stereotypical SE Asian woman, accomodating, and of course he never had been challenged.

The worst part was her mom and sisters, now knowing what he had done they were livid (always despising him anyway). They told him to get the fuck out, its over. He begged to be allowed to talk to Jackie alone but they told him he must be fucken crazy. Then he reiterated a long term threat he made ever since they had separated. He will leave but he will take his daughters with him, which causwed her brother the Ranger to kick him in the head. I am sad to say I lauhed at that one.

Muslims believe that the man automatically gets custody, no matter the circumstances.

He left FAST.

2 days later though he turned up again hoping to finally get that "talk alone," thinking her family was putting ideas in her head. This time she was able to cal a neighbour to get her bro the Infantryman. He showed up and asked if he wanted a repeat performance. She did tell him though, once her bro arrived, that he needed to get it through his head that she would never be with him again...

At the same time Rizza has been hankering for another reunion. Always interesting my life, to say the least.

So now Jackie is angling every day to get me to return and move off of Mindanao. I am not sure how to handle that. I do have the studio in Makati, but with 2 small kids that is not going to be "fun."

I cannot make a home with her in Agusan because of my responsibilities to Rizza's family. It would be a slap in the face to bring Jackie there.

I am thinking of Negros, an island in the Visayan chain, just north of Mindanao. The problem is that the language there is a Bisaya language called Ilonggo, and neither she nor I speak it though she says she can understand it. She is quite fluent in Tagalog (I am fair in it) so I may just end up in Makati, but in a bigger unit. Instead of subletting maybe I will buy. I loved the late Xtcxtc's (RIP) duplex in my building though he was a multi-millionaire and I am not. I am thinking just a regular 2 BR.

I would have to fly to Mindanao weekly though, so it is all being worked out, albeit with my heaping of procastination.

As for the rest of my affairs, same as it always was, on 200 mgs of methadone still though only dosing half the week. I last dosed Monday at 8 AM, it is now Wednesday 830 PM and the lack of analgesia is driving me nuts (per my fucked up jaw that I mentioned in my 1st post this evening). I re-dose tomorrow at about 1 PM so I will just try to ride out the pain.

Music wise...Been listening to Buddha Bar "Cafe del Mar Volume 1," GREAT MIX. I actually have a 4GB card in my Sidekick 08, the device I am using to compose this entry. 1000 songs. Me and my mixes though, I top out at 255 tracks. Bunch of Buddha Bar, Hotel Costes, Ministry of Sound and Hed Kandi as usual. Thinking about getting a 16GB for the trip home to Mindanao, figure I will get
1/4th through the tracks by the time I land 22 hours later.

a love story
by jay brannan

i never believed in love
i never believed in love
then love barreled through
changed my view
when love took the form of you

we had a good long ride
yes we had a damn good time
rolling along
unrestrained
to our melody unchained

then i was betrayed by love
something no one warned me of
love pushed me down
on bended knee
then love made a fool of me

so i turned my back on love
yes, i turned my back on love
stick nor stone
came near my throne
while i spent eight years alone

so now i believe in love
yes, now i believe in love
i'll pin love down
make love see
love better believe in me

i'll pin love down
i'll make love
see, love better believe in me

Jay Brannan


I love Jay's music, he's so realistic in his music. He's not afraid to say it how it is.



edit: might have a deal on custody of my baby girl *dance* just gotta wait for a-hole to notify HIS lawyer and I see mine today....maybe by next week it can be over with. One can hope right??

Still Wednesday, Feb 17th, 2010 and it is now 646 PM here in Brooklyn, NY, USA.

OK, so on my last trip to Mindanao we had a meeting about the paramilitary unit I mentioned a long time ago.

The Philippines as a whole is a collection of fifedoms ruled by warl-rds. The southern Philippines, of which Mindanao is the epicenter, is entirely ruled in this fashion.

Family ties, then ethnicity, and then regionalism are what ties these groups into incredibly cohesive groups. There are 2 kinds of official pro-govt. paramilitaries. CVO (Civilian Volunteer Organisations) are entities created within the last 4 years to better train and equip Barangay Tunods. "Barangay" is a word that originally meant "outrigger," as in the boats polynesians use. The traditional tale is that the Bisaya(Visayans), Rizza is a Bisaya, rode these boats from their home island of Borneo far to the south about 900 years ago (I have told most of this long ago ao anyone reading that recalls it, please bear with me).

Today the word signifies "village," and is a basic form of municipal structure. In the southern Philippines, a rural person lives in a "Sitio" (site). A sitio is a collection of homes, usually huts. Different sitios form a "Purok," or "Barangay." A Westerner can equivocate them with "neighbourhoods." A collection of barangays and puroks make up a "town" or "city" (the English is used in this sense). Urbanised communities begin at a Barangay level.

In the southern Philippines, during the Martial Law era of the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos each Baranagay was tasked with creating "community watch" type organisations called "Tunods." Unlike Western community watch groups, these were used as bulwarks against secessionist and revolutionary groups.

In 2006 current President Gloria M. Arroyo legalised Tunods as "Force Multipliers." Force Multiplication is a basic principle in Anti-Insurgency. It increase "Friendly Forces" and their potential by inegrating community based elements.

Tunods obviously lent themselves well to this. Thus CVOs took the place in many areas, though there ARE still more innocuous Tunods which continue to function as community policing organisations.

In many areas, if there is a bad domestic dispute a Tunod will be called on. Police generally will not deal with such things.

The second type of orgnisation, the one I am involved with, is the CAFGU-SS. There are actually 2 types of CAFGU, CAFGU per se and the CAFGU-SS.

CAFGU (Civilian Auxiliary Force Geographical Units) are the oparamilitary orgnisations created by the late President Corazon Aquino. When she took power she sough to remake Philippine society, and shake loose the vestiges of the Martial Law era. Marcos had created a paramilitary organisation called the CP (Constalbury Pilipinas), a rehashing of the US created "Philippine Constalbury." CP was created especially to battle the communist insurgency (NPA/NDF i.e. New Peoples' Army, a Maoist group, and their political aparattus, the umbrella organisation National Democratic Front).

The CP however was associated too closely with the Marcos regime. In addition, it was stocked with ex-convicts and had a very unsavouryreputation. Basically, they simply changed the name of CP to CAFGU and voila.

CAFGU-SS is more recent innovation. Where as CAFGU is entirely controlled by the govt, the SS is funded and created by private citizens, land-owners and businessmen such as myself. You make a financial commitment, you recruit your soldiers, and it is up to you how to arm them. You still cooridinate Operations with the AFP, the Ph. Military, which in my case is the 4th Infantry Division out of Camp Evangelista in Cagayan del Oro on Mindanao. The 4th, under General Mario Chan is a decent enough group,but enough of that.

On my last trip we had another meeting at Evangelista, and I saw a "friend" of mine again. Let us call her "Jackie." She is a Lumad-Bisaya, what is known in Bisaya as "Netibo."

Netibo are mixed Bisaya and Lumad. Lumad is a genric term for Mindanao Hill Tribe. Her father is a Hinganao-an. The tribe, animist, once nomadic has pretty much settled in isolated hamlets across the mountains from Esperanza in my province of Agusan del Sur, to their main centre in Claveria, Misamis Oriental. Indeed, her dad is from Claveria.

Sadly, as in all warzones it is the indigenous who suffer the most. Claveria now is being torn apart over illegal logging but that is neither here nor there. Many Lumad, like her dad, are recruited in their young teens as govt. or anti-govt. soldiers. In this tribe's case, they are avowedly pro-govt.

She was born in Evangelista, went to school on base, and all 3 brothers are in the military. The eldest was a Marine, on Jolo, and was killed in an ambush by Abu Sayyaf (Islamic Insurgents) in 2000.

1 brother is Infantry, and the other is a Ranger (Ph apes the US in structure). The only real difference between the 2 in Ph is in their prinmary piece. All carry used M16A1s. Rangers have suppressors and am M79 launcher, end of story.

She was 16 when the eldest bro was killed and took her first trip outside the province to a ceremony in Manila, to honour the fallen. The family was given a military escort on the ferry and one of the soldiers was a Moro (Muslim). This man, 33, a Tausug, hit on her.

The Tausug are a tribe I despise (yeah I said it). The are the main tribe on Jolo (ironic is it not that the guy was probably related to the men who blew her brother up). 60% of Tausug marriages originate in kidnapping/rapes which are acceptable forms of marriage in that "wonderful" culture. Polygamous, they forbid females from education, mutilate their female's genitals, and 70% of Tausug men have less than a 3rd grade education.

To make a long story, she ran away with the guy, and as she turned 17 was married in an Islamic marriage officiated by his uncle. His parents told her, "You are now Muslim" and she believed it meant she had converted without knowing.

Her family disowned her...and then she had her first child in 2005, a girl. The family decided to accept her, her child and her "husband" and try to mend things. They arranged to get the 3 of them base housing adjacent to her family's home. In 2007, pregnant for the 2nd time, she got a wake up call when she inadvertantrly found a text on her husbands cell phone from a Bisaya girl saying she was pregnant!

Without saying a word to him, she went and met the girl, and confronted her. Returning to their home she confronted him. She told him to leave, he refused, she grabbed his 45 and away he went.

In 2008 I met her, as I attended my 2nd meeting at Evangelista. She was about to give birth, and I was married, nothing was said and if I felt anything I was not aware of it though she likes to think otherwise.

I did not have contact with her though I did see her a couple of times after that. Before I left to come to the US to get my Hepatitis treatment she and I agreed to keep in touch solely as friends.

We emailed, and when she finally bought a PC we began IMing a couple of times a week but only as friends. Of course it was at that time that Rizza went off the reservation, but I was careful not to fall into that "Rebound Trap," and to be honest, her baggage was a bit too much for me to consider.

I will have to continue in a subsequent post because of the character count...

Today is Wednesday, Feburary 17th, 2010 and it is now 614 PM here in Brooklyn, NY, USA.

Yet another mont has gone by without posting so let me try to cram it all in here (ooooh, sounds like a date I had last night).

I never progressed far enough in my telling of my life story to discuss my war wounds. The first one, at age 17 in southern Lebanon happened in a firefight on patrol in the Shouf. The Shouf are G-D forsaken mountains where only (formerly) marginalised Peoples like Druse and Maronite Christians live. -n 1984, when I was 17, our big problem was Syria and their puppets, the PLA.

The "PLA" was the Syrian sponsored "Palestinia Liberation Army," as opposed to the famous PLO whom Syria hated. I took bullet fragments that shattered against a concrete wall. They entered under my chin, tore through my jaws and ended up dispersed in my snus cavities. Fun. I was mostly angry more than anything as I remember spitting out teeth before I passed out. The pain was unimagineable when I woke.

I was carried out to a field where a copter took me back south, into Israel, to Hadassah Hospital. I was too fucked up to even enjoy the morphine (that would come with my 2nd wound, the one that made me a junkie).

I am discussing this incident because it left my jaws with micro fractures all over, unable to be repaired. Every few months they go bad and "pain" does not describe what it feels like.

Analgesia for junkies is a terrible affair. All the more for freaks like me who, like many Middle-Easterners (which by the way means all ethnic Jews), has extra enzymatic pathways for p450 (the pathway that metabolises opiates/opioids). Basically, it means I take a freakish amount of opiates/opioids to feel anything. I regularly take 1200 mgs of methadone to "feel it," but enough with the "dick sizing."

What happens at times like this, is my jaw radiates this intense pain, and it causes an intense headache behind my left eye. Often times it will burst a blood vessel. I used to worry that it may cause major complications but have been assured over and over that it will not cause anything major. The pain lasts 3 to 6 days, never shorter, never longer. Imagine a 6 day hangover headache PLUS toothache in every tooth on the left side of your mouth...welcome to my world.

Nobody likes a whiner so I usually just read (counter-intuitive, reading with a massive headache I know), and worry to death any woman I am involved with.

Speaking of which...Rizza was trying to convince me to give it another go but as I alluded to in previous posts I have moved past her and am involved with another woman.

Anyone that followed my Journal would probablly remember my questioning whether -or-not I was fully human because I doubted my ability to love. Well, weird as it is, in my early 40s I think I finally fell. So Rizza is relegated to the hell she has created for herself, her family is hopelessly shamed, and in the end I made out wonderfully. I may talk about it more in a subsequent entry.

My eldest has started his job, taken 3 cruises, uneventfully (thank G-D) through the Molluccas, on tankers out of Brunei. One would not think so but the primary loads hijacked are petrol. Whether the Gulf, West Africa or SE Asia they are after the black stuff. I gues it makes sense.

Me? I follow the trade, there is a trade journal that highlights interdiction and the geopolitical strands that make up SE Asian smuggling, but they do not cover the petrol aspect.

I wil close this boring entry and think about gossping about my personal life in a following entry, get my mind off that imaginary finger poking out my eye...fun to be me.

Today is Saturday, October 31st, 2009 and it is now 835 PM here in Brooklyn, NY in the US.

Thursday the 29th saw my Contiuance in that bullshit felony case I fully explained in my preceeding entry/post. I was suprised at how economical the new Bronx County Courthouse is in terms of arhcitecture. The space was highly efficient, with no apparent ostentatiousnness while at the same time incorporating all vital elements (architecture is something I have always been interested in, Art Deco being something of an obsession wit me. Indeed, it is one of the many reasons why I love Phmom Pehn so much).

In NYC, at the close of Initial Arraignment, anyone NOT remaining in custody is given a tiny scrap of paper that has a hate handwritten on it and a marking for the Part (Court Section) for the Continuance.

Following my marking to Part A in the basement, I was 10 minutes early for the 9 AM opening. At 940, with typical American efficiency (cough) a Court Officer posted the Calendar on the outer doors of the Chambers. The Calendar is merely a mimographed paper holding the names and case numbers of each defendant.

Then at nearly 10 AM the inner doors were open and we all rushed in. I met my attorney inside, he having preceeded me as some attornyes with juice spend up to an hour hobknobbing with the prosecution and judge.

He pulled me to side for a quick conference and he said they declined to serve me up to the Grand Jury, making my felong now a misdemeanour. My charge of "posession of a Forged Instrument" could have gotten me 7 years, though the worst case scenario was 4 given NY precedence.

I breathed my first sigh of relief. Then he told me they had offered a buffet of ideas: 5 days Community Service (my first words were "Fuck THEM and fuck THAT"). Next was 2 days Social Services, meaning 2 half days of group counseling. Now I found this one interesting, not knowing WHAT they had intended to counsel me about, NOT using the NYC Transit system? Ergoo, after the requisite, "And fuck that too!" I inquired, "What the hell would that involve anyway." I was told that not even the DAs (prosecuting attorneys) actually knew. Before we could fully confer about the rest of the offers my number was called and up to the front we went.

So the Judge begins asking about Plea Negotiations and the DA begins acting like he's fucken Mother Theresa for having not pushed for indictment until the judge stops him dead in his tracks.

She interrupted him and asked in accusatory fashion just why they had not been willing to offer me a Conditional Discharge. Conditional Discharges are offered to non-violent offenders and simply allow a guilty plea to stand for 1 years from date of conviction. If the subject avoids any further legal contact (at least arrest) the entire infraction AND plea is erased.

If the DA were astute he would note that I am an ex-convict and then in all liklihood the judge would then push for harsher offers as opposed to the converse. However the DA was at most 25, and clearly out of his depth and all he could manage was some mubling before offering me the Conditional Discharge.

So, At 11 AM I left the courthouse feeling somewhat good, but still pissed over the bullshit collar (arrest) as well as the 2800 bill my attorney threw at me. Still, I shouldn't be too salty since IF I had been sentenced to 4 years I would gladly have given 4 times that amount to get out of Sing-Sing (Ossining Prison).

The whole affair caused me a lot of stress, not least of which is my situation back home in the Philippines (collapsing marriage and a large number of business interests and on top of it 8 different insurgencies being fought on my island (Mindanao). 4 years in stir would have really screwed me up.

Although my attorney was always offering up his optimist spiel I could take precious little comfort knowing that this comforting and assuaging of anxiety within his clients was all part of the game.

In more practical terms I have been unable to buy my ticket home not knowing that Thursday's outcome would be.

Firday was spent relaxing, and then this morning, Saturday, I went to the Union Square Farmers' Market on 14th. St. In Manhattan. The Market is an NYC cultural institution on weekends, but especially Saturdays. Farmers from at least 4 states sell everything from Bison and Elk meat to artisinal cheeses and heirloom produce. All of it is homemade and expensive even by NYC standards which happen to be literally the most expensive in the nation.


There are rare bargains, such as apples, Winsaps and Coutlands taste like actual candy apples and so juicy that they squirt like cherry tomatoes. As a Botanist I especially adore all the heirloom produce.

I filled up my 500 byte memoury card with photos which I love to send to the Philippines due to its maddening lack of variety in produce, or for that matter any foodstuff. People cannot believe purple carrots or white peppers exist. I get a kick out of seeing them go ga-ga.

I had intended, last year, to start an heirloom produce operation on some of our land in Prosperidad (provincial capital) but then came my US trip. Hell, I still have to stock my goat operation having bult 3 outbuildings and a nipa (thatched grass/palm house) on the parcel.

I will follow with another entry shortly.

Each day, people wake up and do all kinds of things with their time. Some go to work in an office and file paperwork. Others troubleshoot networking issues for their companies. I sell supplies to builders and decorators. I manage people that sell items to the same customers. I open doors, wipe off tables, make schedules, hang signs, even build things in my store. This last bit I love the most.

My company is basically like a small hardware store with a massive lumber and building supplies yard behind. I spend 99% of my time in the showroom. I know that what I'm doing isn't that important. But, basically, I get to build displays from scratch for many items on our showroom. On days when I get to build stuff, my job does not suck. In fact, I enjoy it.

Building, creating: these are things that are important in life. One might only spend a small time creating something that is greater than the sum of its parts and understand this idea. When you tap into it, be active in creating, you feel the satisfaction it produces. In a way it feels similarly satisfying to exercise. You just don't feel as good about life if you don't exercise. The same, I feel, could be said about invention, expression, and creating purpose out of one's actions.

It's important to enjoy or take pride in one's work. Otherwise it's all about the money and that's really no good to anyone. Why do anything if you don't love it? I know that's hasty and naive but you only get one life. How can you spend it laboring aimlessly just to score enough dough to scrape by unhappily? You'd have to have a family that you really need the job for money to provide them the things they need.

Maybe I shouldn't look at it that way. I guess anyone could get a job doing anything and find a way to love it. I suppose someone could find joy frying fish, carrying out the grease every night, hosing down the kitchen. Some people could probably. I couldn't. I guess I got lucky with my current job.

There are little to no real responsibilities to attend to other than my asshole employees who call in sick once a week at least. No, I don't enjoy them. But I also don't focus on them. Lucky again, I really don't mix personal and professional lives.

Enough ranting...

The days are definitely getting longer. The weather is much more tolerable than the previous month or so. No snow has fallen in about a week. The arriving spring is a wonderful feeling. When your bones are tired and rigid from all the cold, just the idea of spring approaching is enough to lighten anyone's spirit.

I am certainly in good spirits today. I must be manic............jk.

I've had really bad nightmares for about the past ten years or so. The ones that leave you sweating and shaking like you five years old again wishing you had a damn night-light. Too scared to get the hell out of bed to go turn the light on or simply roll over and go back to sleep so instead you sit there and watch the shadows waiting..for who knows what.

The past year though they've gotten worse, I don't know if this is a real term or not but night terrors seem to fit my dreams better now. I've already scared the hell out of people by screaming in my sleep. They have become so much more vivid/real, without me taking anything to help that.

I woke up from a dream the other night crying and in my dream there was someone holding my shoulders (yes I know it was most likely because I was tense) but my shoulders ached for the rest of the day and no I didn't check to see if there were marks. Honestly I was to scared that if there were I wouldn't ever be able to sleep again. I know it was only being upset and tense but I was so fucked up by the events of the dream that I went to run out of the room, getting my foot stuck in my backpack and falling on my ass. Than not being able to find the light switch and open the door. This all happened at 3 AM and I was shocked that I didn't wake up the whole house, thankfully they all snore.

That dream was at least not the same as they usually are. Still, I have never gone running out of a room for any dream I've ever had before.

For the most part It's a replay of having to watch my late husband while he commits suicide. Almost every night from him getting the drop light to the quiet music playing and his complete stillness.

I hate sleeping...

Just thinking about it I start shaking.

I just want to be held and to be able to hold onto someone...

i find purpose in those birds. they peck and jump on top of the snow with urgency against the pale cold fighting them. sharp, jagged movements. starting then stopping. tiny things i can hold in my hand. the snow is peppered by their increasing numbers as large idle creatures observe through slitted windows.

memories can be devastating.

Hand shakes, can't type no more
Mind shakes, can't think no more
brain shakes, can't live no more

The great creator calls for me
I can't free myself from his grip
This has made me think of you
Feeling this blue and how we ended up
Talk about a major fuck up.

Action not words as the saying goes
but how can I when I don't know where you are?
How can I when you are too far yet so close?
When can I? Will I ever be forgiven?

How much more longer can I go livin'
I feel the end so close
but am I holding on for you?
or for the hopefulness of a life gone wrong to right itself?

I dunno, though my hand's still shakin'

I LOVE my therapist!!!
I can not say this enough!
I went in in a bad place this afternoon!
Her office is in a medical office- which I typically do not do well in.....I put hand sanitizer on my hands at least 15 times in 15 minutes! I was very very anxious and talking to my husband on the phone, who I snapped at b/c I was trippin' out on babies crying and old people sneezing and my husband telling me not to take a Klonopin before therapy.
I thought I was gonna pull my hair out.
So when I got back to her office I was nervous and not happy AT ALL.
When I left, it was a new day!
In therapy I told her about some of my spiritual/intuitive experiences, which I was afraid to tell a therapist about b/c I didn't want them to think I was Coo coo...... She is into that and she started asking me questions about it and then asked me if I have done any energy healing-
I have on other people and I have had it done on me by my mother who was into Reiki a while and got through Level 1 training. So- then she asked if I'd be interested in her doing an energy clearing on me and a grounding. I was happy to have her guide me and it was awesome.
She played the sound of waves and guided me through. I left feeling calm and happy
It also thrilled me to no end that she knew her sun, rising and moon sign and is into astrology!!!
A therapist who understands that astrology is a tool to better understand yourself- uses the earth and universes energies to heal and who is open to other spiritual experiences is EXACTLY what I needed! YAY THERAPY!!!!

ive been doing some research for the past few months regarding tolerance to cannabis.

overall ive documented (or failed to document thehe) a few things about my body in specific and cannabis tolerance.

first, some CHRONology.

went from being a daily cannabis smoker to not smoking cannabis for nine months, then beginning to smoke it on the good old daily again. this affects may experiment a hundredfold.

once a legitimate tolerance built after a few weeks, aka not tripping out when only cannabis is smoked, less of a physical type high, baseline is already a little bit canabinoid - y.

anyways, as the author im 100% sure i understand how stupid of a tolerance to cannabis, mainly a mid-grade crossbreed sativa indica junky poorly treated strain, that my body has created. enough said, good ganja still gets me sky high and provides an enjoyable few hours.

so this being said and me loving cannabis, i have worked some things out with my body.

cannabis synergy that rocks my socks

(cannabis + caffeine) always makes for a stronger body stone, plus a real crative mind high that is helpful with art and listening and enjoying music. nothing super spectacular but great for a cold day when im trying to do art.

(cannabis + multiple strains of cannabis) this is always good. crossing strains, or whatever is sold to you as different buds, most people who sell herb have no clue wtf it is. most common in local areas that i have resided in are sativa dominant strains, which with another good sativa bud, can create a very energetic floaty high. i may have mixed indica strands a few years back when in burke, since that was an indica laden territory, but i have not intentionally mixed two for sure indicas within the time i have know things about ganja.

(cannabis + nndmt) well my friends we have made it past the end of the rainbow, now what. aproximately an 1/2 hour to an hour after vaporizing nndmt I have pretty much always smoked some ganja. my dmt bodyload is magnified by the ganja, and visuals when my eyes are open are slightly noticeable, especially on the computer screen or with bright lights at night. my mind moves with the same paths it had just created with the spirit molecule, but runs back and forth not knowing what to do. id like to write about this synergy more in-depth, especially noting the mental/psychological component.

there are too many more combos with cannabis. one per day will suffice to keep giving them all justice!

Wild in running
an adolescent plastic handed, whimsey....


----=alterius non sit qui suus esse potest=----

"Let no man belong to another that can belong to himself"

An understanding, we that claim to be slaves of a master, remain as servants and not they whom pretend to service.

a sour fig crushed within teeth, bitter repugnance seeps deeply in hearts of outrage.

we are strong, we are powerful... more righteous then you have us believe.

we are more equal then the weatherman repeats.

i heed warning, we are more able then you fear we could be.

an executive recall...

initiative, reform, recall assholes.

hahaha

I pretended to be the lead singer in a band to get a girl

I own a 'autographed' photo of Charlie Daniels which bears a fake signature

Tarzan was my childhood hero

I thought it was illegal for males to go into Victoria's Secret

I served Belinda Carlisle Cinnabons

I've had these thoughts hit me rather often lately. They are typically triggered by one thing or another.

When I'm washing my leg in the shower I notice that fat vein running along the top of my foot. When I brush my teeth I see that fucker popping out on the outside of my forearm. The phone rings and its someone from the recent past who is high as shit.

I was at a meeting last night and I wanted to share about how I let these frequent triggers affect me.

There is a little kitchen at the spot where the meeting is and I noticed that this kitchen had the same exact tile floor as I my place in Colorado. For some reason I stared at that fucking floor last night and the image of dried little blood droplets on my Colorado kitchen's floor popped into my head. I had forgotten about those little perfect circles on my floor. I then remembered the dried blood drops on my first apartments kitchen floor when I first moved back to Pennsylvania.

These images were attractive to me. I had forgotten about them.

I wasn't called on to share from the floor but as the meeting was coming to an end, one of the folks in the room grabbed one of those Swiffer WetJets and proceeded to clean the floor in that little kitchen at the meeting.

It was refreshing to see. Yeah, it sounds ridiculous but that floor (all the floors of my past) needn't be a beautifully sad, self-indulgent memory to me.

They are clean now, as am I.

I'm learning that if I keep an open-mind. I can find the answers to my challenges by applying effort and, if that isn't enough, simply observe the occurrences around me.

The answers are there. I just need to be able to see and accept them.