Blogs

Apparently all my threads, posts and blogs are apathetic cry for attention that people don't want to give me and I should just save the world from my shit and off myself ASAP, cause thats what I feel like right now.

Someone forwarded me a text that was sent to him that said "Liz is a psycho yeah? Is that why you no talk to her no more?"

Why do I assume people are playing games with me? Why would they? I dont get why some people dont answer questions that would resolve issues. I think its because they know what the deal is and dont really care if I do or not, so I should not care about them.

Why did it take so long to get resolution to that relationsip? Why did he not tell me the truth?

Am I delusional or just a confused, sad ex girlfriend that will have to work hard to get her self esteem back.

I asked my friends this morning in Melbourne if I am crazy. They had just octo-dropped (8 snax) the night before and were scattered but said I wasn't but just had to slow my mind down, stop expecting the worst as that makes the worst happen.

Its hard when you dont know for sure if you are crazy or not. I asked my ex if he thought so. He never responded to that question, or a lot of others. I wonder why he would not give me his opinion .

A continuation...

Right from the start the house became a lighting rod. Hebron has always been a very contentious city, and just happened to become the 3rd deployment of the PA Infantry, meaning it will soon be under total PA Control and despite the location of some of our religion's holiest sites, it looks as if the Israeli powers that be have made up their mind to consider Hebron in its entirety a write off, to hell with the Jews there.

It always amazes me, to no end, how people could call ANY Jew living in the so called "West Bank," let alone Hebron, a "Settler." A Settler? We were there 2500 years already when the first Arab entered history! And yet today, because our people were EXTERMINATED, BY ARABS THERE, any Jew daring to live there is evermore a "SETTLER."

Naturally the Jews that did make it their home have been harcore nationalists, tough to the bone and quick to defence, and rightly so I would say given my own subjective history with the town. Yet the Western Media makes it look like this tiny crazy group of Jews has no business living there are running rampant and if they react to threats in a proactive way...or let us face facts even create violence on their own so as to send out a message of strength, that they are the problem.

No mentioned of the blood spilled. No mention of the property stolen (basically my family owned 94% of the entire Tel Rumeida nighbourhood in 29). Only mentioning Jews living in Hebron and violence with Arabs!

So here we are, in the House of Peace, and our own govt. forbade us winterising the building. Hebron gets VERY cold, even snowing some winters and so we needed to winterise it, but the govt. got a stop work order slapped on the building, and then since that year, 2004, has tied us up in court trying to disposses us and evict our tenants!

The High Court (i.e. Supreme Court) refuses to rule on *ownership,* but has ruled that we can be dispossesed!!!!!! No payback for the cash, no mention of ownership, no mention of the historical travesty heaped upon us, only this - and ignorant Western retards whining about "Palestinians."

"Palestinians" can rent a penthouse on Dizengoff St in Tel Aviv but I cannot buy a property stolen from me, and in my family for more than 1000 years, because it is a capital offence under PA Law!

Finally, last week, the Army and Border Guard (MAGAV) stormed my house and removed every single Jew on premise, and will now give the key to the fucken Arab we bought it from, the same piece of shit who stole it from us in the first place, MAYBE the spawn of the one who murdered my family. Tell me of justice. Tell me how Israelis oppress, and persecute....

Mind you I DO NOT hate Arabs, just this Arab shithead. He counted the money on video and smiled! Yet the Court refuses to rule on onwership???????


Ok,ok,ok. No more venting hahahahha. I am beginning to sound like Jamshyd hahahahahaha. Better just talk about my life here...OK, promise next post will be about the good old Philippines!

whats better than enforced withdrawal?

forcefully withdrawing from withdrawal. percocet may be incredibly overpriced in these parts, but it certainly takes the edge off and does the job.

My brother is ripping himself to shreds emotionally, thanks to his heart. He has got his own place together, having split up with his partner of ten plus years. The woman he left her for has devided to get married to another older fellow, and yet she still phones him to talk about things. Of course he is like a moth around a flame, and though all rational parts of him can see this, they are not doing the driving just now. He was always a bit grumpyish from time to time, but right now he is properly depressed. We are somewhat helpless. All we can do is let him bounce his thoughts and feelings off us as he sees fit. I've toyed with the idea of getting cross with him, in the 'belt up now' fashion, but I'm not made that way, and I'm not sure it would help.
Dad's got a bad chest infection, but as choirmaster at the local church in the village, he is still going down tonight for the rehearsal. Both him and Mum have maybe found my brother a bit of a strain at times while he has been staying at theirs. They are positively heroic in their support for my brothers and I over the years.
Played two gigs now in the band. The first was at F-----s, and went well according to feedback. We were supporting another band in which was several chaps I had previously played with at various times. One of them, K----y, is possibly the best drummer I've known. He has a truly joyous grasp of grooves, and hapily mixes quavers and triplets with minimal effort. He would be in the supergroup that I dream of theoretically. That gig was blighted by my suffering from a heavy bout of flu. I knew I didn't play as sweetly as I might have liked, but nobody else seemed to notice. This pleased me somewhat.
That bout of flu was a reminder of frailty for me. At its worst, I was fairly badly off. I felt ridiculously tired, and there was a part of me could hardly believe how pathetic I found myself. It took three days off work to get back on my feet, and I nursed a bad chest with a very satisfying rattle for a month. Still enjoyed the occasional joint of course. This was despite some nights when my chest was so bad that I wondered if the rate of gaseous exchange was sufficient to keep me conscious. Fine now, thankfully, beside the now resident smokers cough.
The second gig was an unusual and abbreviated affair . We were first of three at a newish (To me - I don't get out much in town these days) venue. It had previously been a cavernous snooker hall under the Jobcentre. Now it held two bars, a capacious dancefloor and a nice stage. The sound system was excellent and fairly new. We were delighted, and got a good soundcheck. The second band were 18-20ish lads playing stuff that was fast and jagged but, I have to say, not particularly inspiring. The third band were Canadian fellows on a two week tour of the UK, called Ten Kens. Their soundcheck sounded cool and they looked the part too. One guitarist was a short lad withe dark hair tucked under a woolly hat, sporting a pretty chunky black beard. He also wore a pair of glasses that put in place the final move to recreate a kind of 20 something Allen Ginsberg look. He was the guitarist while the bass player was a tall thin dude, with those small rectangular glasses.
At 8.45 we played a neat compact set which kind of was too short for me to really get into my stride. This was a Wednesday night and the audience was minimal. Maybe twenty people in attendance including staff. More a sort of dress rehearsal, though for what, I do not know. My youngest brother's Mrs came along with one of her clients. She works in a home for people with behavioural disabilities. C----n is a chap with some kind of autistic spectrum thing. I imagine he would come under the lower functioning end of the scale, since he didn't have any speech, but apparently liked music. He was indeed the only person dancing during our set. He continued to do so during the second band, but came to sit down after a couple of their songs. I sat with him and my brothers Mrs while he nursed his pint of beer. At that moment I witnessed him swifty pick it up and toss it in a perfectly formed arc above us and over our heads so that it crashed down on the mixing desk in the sound booth behind us. It happened almost in slow motion in my minds eye and I remember the thoughts evolving into sheer horror as it travelled along its trajectory.
Within seconds, the sound cut out, followed shortly after that by the building lights. The lights came on again as people fiddled with switches and the sound man frantically attempted to mop up as much of the beer as he could with whatever porous items he could lay his hands on. The landlord behaved comletely nobly at all times in the aftermath and deserved a place in heaven for his tolerance and decorum. It was, I kept telling me, a random terrible moment. An act of God, in insurance parlance. I had for several moments literally wished that the earth could have swallowed me up. Unfortunately the proceedings were drawn to a close at that point, and we never did get to hear the rest of the set by the Ten Kens. Classic situation.

Since the journal went down there has been a few times when I would have written, but I thought I'd wait. The temptation to indulge in tripping has diminished as well because I hadn't got my comfy journal to scribble in. Sometimes I don't think these jottings warrant entry in the trip reports section on account of the fact that my entries tend to take in more than just trip information. Other times they are just journal entries.

Work has been gradually winding up towards Christmas. The volume of mail is reaching miserable proportions, meaning that 12 hour days are the norm. Thankfully the glossy A4 size brochures and letters have eased of during the festive period, and the weekly leaflet drops are suspended. However the volume of parcels is enough to drive a chap round the bend. Suppose you have five medium sized packages on one street, this reduces the amount of mail that can be fitted in a bag. Meaning that a round that might take, say four twenty kilo bags now takes six or eight bags even, though lighter in weight (Parcels weigh less by volume than a bundle of letters.) I'm starting at five am and finishing at 4-5pm each day. An undeniable bitch.

A recent news report informed the public that the Royal Mail Human resources department feel that postmen should be walking around on the job at approximately four miles per hour. This has provoke some hilarity amongst the blokes, and a refreshing breeze of sympathy from the public. The fact that we must fill in a slip of card for undeliverable parcels means that for the five minutes that takes, we must redouble our speed to perhaps four miles an hour to compensate. We just love it when the office wallahs slip up and embarass themselves. The title of Human Resources takes on almost Nazi overtones when they spout claptrap as described.

I found a handbag in a front garden just along the street from a Police van the other day. It was a bitterly cold and wet morning, and it was a sad site, sodden wet, spilling whatever makeup and trinkets that hadn't taken the burglar's fancy. I picked it up and handed to a pretty girl who lived at the house where the van was parked. She looked distraught.

While I may be blogging here sometime soon, for now I'll be blogging on my main blog on MySpace:

myspace.com/rewiiired

... as well as blogs I can't post on my MySpace for various reasons, to be found on LiveJournal at:

http://transimian.livejournal.com/

... both of which have friend settings, because I like to see the eyes that spy -- or at least know that eyes are spying. So if you are a member of either of these websites and so desire, please, feel free to send me a friend request.

But as I said, knowing me, I am bound to be posting here soon...

Hi. Back again after a small hiatus. Turns out you never can escape the clutches.

Well, I'm in residential treatment now, and they'll let me leave with their good graces as soon as I find a job or get the go-ahead to just fucking apply to school. Turns out I'm unable to get hired right now. Imagine that. Fucking bullshit.

Well, after 7 months clean, things seem a little different. I'm now allowed to be angry, I'm now able to construct a cogent argument against, well - anything(particularly the efficacy and philosophy of 12-step programs), and I'm also on my 4th step in Eating Disorders Anonymous. Funny how things work out. I can only accept fatalism when it promotes balance in my life, it seems.

I also have moods. Some good, some bad, all worthwhile. I'm just glad to be able to think relatively clearly now. I guess I'll end there.

Day three after no opiates, yet again. I don't think this withdrawal is so bad, except I've realized that i become very bored very easily without drugs. I guess the more intense experiences you fill your life with, the greater the basis for comparison, and the less often you can be satisfied with small pleasures. In fact, the only real enjoyment I've derived since running out of percocet is getting blackout drunk and throwing impromptu dance parties in the living room, to either the delight or horror of my friends, I can't decide which.

Oh, and the best part? I'm sure the physical aspect of this will be over soon, but I know that as soon as I can re-up I'll be riding the opiate train yet again.

Today is Monday, December 15th, 2008 and it is now 10:37 PM here in Philippines.

The character count on these Blogs is a bit of a pain but maybe it will lead to more frequent posting, by me anyway, which has always been a problem in days past. Kind of glad my Journal is in the ether, and maybe beyond the eyes of most. I am not a fan of self realisation and that is what the Journal was supposed to be, at the behest of Rizza, my wife and others.

Music wise, listening to a Cebuano band. Cebuano is a language group here which is sometimes interchangable with ethnicity but not really. For example, you can be a Tagalog (ethnicity) who speaks a Cebuano language, or you can be a Cebuano ethnicity like my wife's Bisaya (Visayan) People, and only speak Tagalog (language).

The group is *ManoMano*, which in Cebuano (and Spanish) can mean *Hand-Hand* or simply *Bro* as in *Brother.* The song is *Nene* which in Cebuano and Spanish means *Baby* or more usually *Baby Girl.* Actually in Spanish *Nena* would mean *Baby Girl* but who is keeping track?

The song is kind of grunge, if you are Western and can get past the language difference you might really dig it if you like that kind of rock, as I do: www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCLIJ19UvoY

Reading wise it is still Guttenburg Project, onto a travellers tale by a Jew who lived 1100 years ago. Funny how little my People 's customs and ways stay the same over the eons. I find it comforting. Wish traveling still meant finding a new language and People in the next valley but we cannot fight progress as they say.

Want to post another video made by a friend of one of my bros- in- law yesterday, and uploaded already to Youtube. It shows our village San Franz (real name San Francisco) in all its glory. You can even see some of my land in it (meaning that which I myself own) as well as local things. Some may find it curious viewing, others interesting, others downright boring...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLbJJ3mYpDo

So...after All Souls/Day of the Dead, and the big chow down in the cemetery, Rizza, my second eldest bro-in-law Nigel and Rizza's nanny headed back on the ferry from Nasapit to Cebu as I probably mentioned.

Dad had been there already, in Compostela Village on Cebu (Island) as opposed to Cebu City which is where Rizza and I have our second home in Barangay Tisa. Compostela is his hometown.

I stayed here for while to take care of some local things now that the insurrections have begun heating up again.

Mindanao, the island I live on, is listed in most embassy's Advisories as a location NOT to go to. In fact, US Diplomatic personell are forbidden from travelling here because of the danger (alleged or real, debatable depending whom you are arguing with).

Just after Rizza left for Cebu we got word from Dad that his mum had died from her long suffering cancer. Our Mum meanwhile was in Davao City with my youngest bro-in-law Mario, or as we call him *Mayo* who is all of 6. He had a bad fever for 2 weeks and we live in Dengue country so into San Pedro Hospital in Davao for him...

Called Mum, let her know, and she made plans as soon as Mayo was ready to travel with him over to Cebu for the 2 week wake.

Rizza is a convert to Judaisim but the family itself is still very Catholic, and Bisaya have their own customs as well. You must not sleep while the corpse is in the house, and the corpse stays for a full 2 weeks (I will not get into the smell part since at least in our family there is no embalming).

As a Jew dead people are most foul to me and except in war I ill not willingly go near them. They do not phase me, as suprises Mum, etc. It is just that I need to maintain my ritual purity. I am not a Kohane in which case I could have never married a convert (and many other limitations per that caste). Still, even as a non-Kohane I must retain a modicum of ritual purity...and besides it gives me a very conveinent *out* since I am not at all close with that branch of the family. I really have no idea how Dad ever sprung from them but better leave that alone.

Mum took Mayo, my 9 year old sister in law Marian, and brother in law Manneses age 12 to the ferry in Cagayan del Oro, and joined my eldest bro-in-law Ariel aged 23 for the long sail to Cebu where they stayed until the internment.

Meanwhile I was then compelled to stay here whether or not I liked it, and to be honest, warfare aside, it is ok by me. Cebu is fine after a long time in the bush but then becomes cloying. I like my solitude, always have. Not anti-social per se, just very choosy about my socialising.

Then, on 11/7 there was a bad firefight up the road (National Hiway) in Monkayo Village, a town I happen to really like except for it being an NPA (communist insurgency) stronghold.

NPA Front 3 came across a Special Forces squad that was pursuing it and engaged it, instead of a running rertreat which is their usual MO. They annihilated the force and took its leader, 1st Lt. Cammayo as a *POW*

Then, the next week at a mobile check point the NPA took an officer in the 1105 Mobile Division as another *POW* in Ba'ogo Village which is a bit further away, in Davao Orietal Province.

Last week the NPA announced that both would be tried for *Human Rights Crimes.* Hmmm...

Just today got the news that in Davao City's outlying areas the army neutralised (killed) an NPA *Sparrow Squad* leader. *Sparrows* are plainclothed assasination units.

In the Muslim sector things have been quiet in most places, even in Moro (*Bangsamoro* is the catchall name for the Muslim ethnicities here) news sources which means that things are ratcheting down for whatever reason EXCEPT in Zamboanga which is a peninsula in W. Mindanao, pretty far from here.

We never get touched by that , at least as of yet but there has been a real resurgence in Bisaya militias (meaning anti-Mslim) so they just may make their own action, which I really am hoping does not happen.

Will close here for the character count and maybe pick it up later, etc...

its a long tek back up if you fall.

Its been ages since I last came across the blog section. I did have a stream of entries but deleted them all when an ex partner was going through all my on-line activity. She had become a bit obsessed with exploring all my drug use and what not over the years.

Its been about 18 months since my most prolific use of Bluelight and since then I have been through rehab twice and a few detoxification process. the crack nearly broke me and my mental wealth deterioted to more or less nil. Putting me down like a sick dog was becoming my final destination.

I have changed alot but am still my usual cynical self but less caught up on other peoples views on drugs and drug use.

I have moved out of London, got a new home, new girl and soon to be little baby girl, had a sexing scan. I am so so so excited....

I still have been active on line but mainly through the methadone alliance....

What can I say, I went out on Saturday night to our works xmas dinner and drinks. The food was'nt that great but the drinking and dancing was good laugh.
I think I have grown out of the wallflower stuff as evertime i was asked up to dance, I said why not and proceeding to the dance section with a new group of ladies to have a giggle. The restuarant was Greek and the music was a blend of Greek mamba to 70's classics, but was all sang live. I had a wonderful time and innocently flirted around all night.

There was a belly dancer, which turned out to be some old hag looking more like she had fallen out of a priscilla queen of dessert pantomime.

Its freezing out here the UK, oh I do miss going on holiday at this time of year, I have holiday booked this side of 2008, so will have to graft right up to the final moments of the year, such is life.

trying to shoot my own turkey have a goooooo

http://www.southbank-design.co.uk/turkeyshoot/index.htm

Disability throws all kinds of challenges in my life that can sometimes bum you out to the point where you wonder the value of that life you life. “Is it worth it?” I often ask myself. Now, I don’t mean that I want to off myself as a last demonstration of the ugliness that is disability. No, I ask the question in the context of whether it’s worth it to be so independent that my energy is spent on areas where it might be better directed.

I should explain that I live 100% on my own. I do my own laundry and other household chores. I do all my own bathing, cooking, cleaning, dressing, etc. Everything. The part that gets me thinking is all of that is done at a greater amount of time that it might take you to do. For example, tomorrow morning I am going to do my laundry. 2 loads will take me 4-5 hours to do. Lug the basket on my lap to the laundry room in my apartment, load the one washer I can use (its front loading – the others are top loading so good luck me reaching the bottom of it), get it out¸ put it in the dryer, etc. Then bring it all back and fold it, make the bed. For those who do it, you realize the chore that it is. I would guess that it takes me twice as long then it would take you to so it.

Is it worth it? I do get a certain amount of satisfaction from doing it. I have always had a certain amount of smugness to say “Screw you, you said I can’t? Well, guess what? I did it”.

But the cost is time. Time that could be spent on more productive things, more fun things, anything except the time spent doing life.

The other, more important cost is the mindset that it creates. An independent mindset creates a false impression that you don’t need anybody. This translates into a mindset where a wall is set up that insulates me from people coming into my life. In other words it insulates me from creating relationships. To have a successful relationship you have to be a little bit needy in that you want/need some other person to come in and help you with something. Having someone to talk to for example. I have created a life that doesn’t allow for that. It makes me very lonely.

So this independence comes at a cost. As I get older I can see myself ending up completely devoid of a partner and it scares me. I, by no means, am a recluse. I have built my self-esteem to a comfortable level especially when I’m in the gym. But I don’t know how to open myself up to the point where someone can see me in that way.

Being independent also creates a person that is self-centred which is also a detriment in creating relationships. When I have to constantly worry about my health, what food I’m eating, where I can find an accessible bathroom etc., it leaves little time to ask a girlfriend what she needs. As a result, I look like the one with the ego and self-important. I’m not. It’s a matter of survival.

DT

Hello all who may read this,
I have decided to start a blog, before I start my detox next week.
I thought if I did this I could:
a) get feedback from others who have gone through methamphetamine addiction
b) get my feelings out, hopefully it motivates me more and less likely to relapse.

Well, here's my story. I am Claire, from Melb, Australia. 22 yrs of age, I got into meth about six, six and a half years ago. It has pretty much fucked my life up, I was in denial for a long time until I had a big wake-up call after attempting suicide in July last year.
That motivated me to finally get some help, as I realised I did have a massive problem, I just didn't want to believe it at the time.
Anyway, clearly I did not stop using. I soon found out I was in a lot deeper than I realised, it was almost like an abusive boyfriend. One I loved with all my heart, treated me like crap but I always went running back.

My mother found out about my little issue a year ago, and since then has pretty much cut all ties with me, occasional text to see if im 'still alive.'
I know she cares, but its pretty discouraging when your own mother thinks you're hopeless! She dislikes my sister (18) & brother (14) talking to me. She thinks they will be 'influenced'.
Ha, if anything it would be the opposite, but she is quite naive about drug use, sure it IS my fault, I don't blame anybody else, but she doesn't support me at all, its pretty upsetting.

This Tuesday 16th December I have an appointment with a doctor to get some medical assistance (such as benzo's and an anti-depressant) to make the withdrawal a little easier. How much it will help, I have no idea, but I know I would have no chance doing it without them. It's not so much the physical effects, just the mental idea of having a little pill that'll help me kick it, makes me feel a lot more confident.
Also, reading the stories of others on here has definitely given me more hope.
People in even deeper than me have managed to get out and stay out.

I know that there IS a fair chance I could relapse early into it, but if I do(fingers crossed I don't!) I think I will only be more determined to not do it again, if anything. I'm human, we all make mistakes. I made a mistake of becoming dependent on a drug and denying my usage was a problem for over six years.

Having that been said, this is a chapter in my life I am quite happy to close, lock, and throw away the key. I start Tuesday (only 3 more days) and I am fucking scared shitless. I can't function without it, but I don't have a choice anymore.
I cannot physically do it to myself anymore, I need to get out NOW! before something truly serious happens, and it ain't far off..

I will post again Tuesday .. doctors appointment/first day off drugs.. I am dreading it yet looking forward to it at the exact same time.

X Claire


ps thanks everyone for the positive comments, i havent had any in about 20 hrs..plus been awake for 4 days..im in a shit mood where i cant see anything positive, argh, but those comments made me feel lots better
my mates fucked me around tonight..and hes done it before..that set me off..
i HATE ditchers thieves and liars..pretty sure hes all 3. hes gone from my life now, just wanted to see him one last time b4 i quit..but guess i aint that important to him after all ..

I am going to get a Christmas tree with the girls. Then I am going to pick up the pieces for our holiday to begin. I miss Joe, but he would be so mad at me if he knew I was grieving so hard that I haven't gotten the girls a tree yet. So we are going to the tree stand and getting the best tree I can afford, and putting smiles on our faces. Life must go on...........

Sitting, finally, leaning forward a little with my elbows on my knees on the chair with the wobbly legs, the one we tried to put together after the fight and succeeded, for the most part, save for the slight unevenness of the thing though now it has a bit of character with its battle scars and all and fits in nicely with the rest of the place, the rest of the people that are here some of the time and then they're not all of the sudden and we wonder about their safety and well being but we don't bother to ask each other or anyone else, and I listen to the ringing of the phone in the kitchen, the phone without an answering machine so it will ring all day until the caller hangs up, but then it stops, silence for a minute, and then it rings again and rings and rings and rings.

"Who do you think it is?" asks the man with the dying electric razor voice, the man sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall on my favorite stained, coverless cushion that came from I don't know where, his chin still buried in his chest and he does that looking up at me from his forehead thing that makes me feel i'm not important enough for him to acknowledge me with a complete head raise and direct eye contact and then "Don't you think we ought to answer it?" but I don't think so, no, and it stops anyways though I know it will start again soon and I look at the cuts on the back of my hands, try to move the ring finger on my left and I wonder if it's broken and the guy sitting on the floor on my favorite cushion asks "When the hell did this place get a phone?"

Anyone else going to sniff some NICE OC 80's, or CDN 80's the second you wake up on christmas.

Lol..last christmas my gfs cuz called me at 10am looking for 80s.. Believe it or not,,, my dealer at the time(who lived with his mom) let me come over at 10 30am christmas morning to buy 80s...

NOW THATS chrismas spirite. TO bad he jsut didnt give me them..I gave him some pot cuz i felt bad for coming at that time.

What is the point of sticky threads if no one uses them. DOes anyone else hate all the stupid questions about benzos that could be anwered with one look at a benzo sticky thread.

Blogs? Hmmm. Interesting.

It's 8:15am and I haven't slept at all. I think it may have something to do with the Vyvanse...hm.

So...while the journals were down I tried Mushrooms for the first time. I split an eight with a friend and it was a ton of fun. I can't remember what else happened.

I should listen to myself more often, and will do from now on.

I was in a rather tumultuous relationship with this guy called Tom. I met him when e came over to fix my computer as I deleted dll files off it.

He is rm2x's friend, and apparently a great guy.

I came to this new city with intentions of death, and to be honest I still feel like dying. I had redeveloped a massive drug addiction and had an ounce of 4-MAR with me.

Tom and I grew quite close quite quckly, It was not love at first sight. I was wary of being with him considering we both were addicts and I had been down that road before.

Eventually, I had to admit love for him.

He was so sweet and did not make a big deal of my odd behavious and insecurities as my addiction advanced. He made me feel beautiful.


Then the drugs ran out.


This is when we started having issues and fighting. I remember the first time he went off his block at me. He was having work dramas and a text he was sent made him see red. It was his retarded boss Vange. I had some xanax and asked him if he wanted one. I thought he said no but he said "suppose". So I put it on top of the tv. After this text he went nuts and started tearing strips off me about the xanax thing. I said it was on the tv. He eventually stormed out.

Another incident happened when I grew sus of him as we talked about moving in together but then the next day he made some snide comment about not having to explain where he was going as we didnt live together. So I looked in his phone and there it was, text messages between him and Toni, his "horror movie" buddy.

I confronted him immediately and should have dumped him then and there but I didn't as I didn't want to be right. He denied and acted as if I was the biggest bitch in the world.

I will bring this to a conclusion now as Im sedated and going to sleep, but everything can be wound up at this point of the story and filed in later.

Tonight it took the woman to tell me that I was right along. He just never told me and kept stringing me along.

What bothers me is my mental state. I dont need this shit man, Im pretty unstable and need good people in my life, not shit like this. But if you're fucked up its unlikely you will meet those people.

You can fuck off too Tom.

I hear you want a blogging. From me, the blogger. Well, I'll give you a tiny taste of my blog. there, you like that? It's my blog. My blog, uh, what? My blog, bitch!

Well, beats not having a Journal I say, but the visualisation does leave ALOT to be desired. However, beggars cannot be choosers and since the site is in such flux I suppose we should all offer a huge sigh of relief...


SIGH RELIEF


Now that we have got that thing ouf of the way, what is it to be...Today is Sunday, December 14th, 2008 and it is now 825 AM here in the Philippines.

Music wise, I have been really allowing myself to get into 2 videos from Israel. One is from two individual artistes, both of whom I enjoy alot for their own merits but this duet is just priceless.

The singers are Shlomi Shabbat and Lior Farchi (Farchi actually being a realtive of mine but that is another story). The type of music is *Mizrachi* which also describes a type of Jew. In English it means *Eastern* as in *Middle Eastern.*

Mizrachi music is more like Bollywood, Desi, and of course Arabic and Greek all rolled into one. The females sing in very high registers, and so do the males actually, the instrumentation is very Middle Eastern of course and it is probably my second favourite genre after Trance.

The song is called *Ad HaSof* which means, in Hebrew, *Until the End* and if you watch the video it just might invoke memories of the Irish New Age/Tradtionalist band *Clannad,* the band that gave the world *Enya*. They had a song, a duet with Bono of *U2* called *In a Lifetime* and both lyrically and in the video a story was told about a marriage or relationship that last unto death.

In this song though it goes one further in that it tells how we can so very easily come to take for granted those we love the most.

Is it not true though? Throwing his dirty draws on the couch, you leaving the cosmetics on the sink, both of you with morning breath and before long what was once so endearing and cute is now likely to drive you to murder...but let something happen that draws the 2 of you apart for any matter of time and it all goes to hell. You need each other for the long haul.

Watch the video...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=lazfCdaDPuA


The second song that has been tearing me up is a bit suprising. A movie came out a while back, in Israel, called "Yossi and Jagger." A bit of an Art House film, as much as one can be in a country as tiny as Israel, but the subject matter was disturbing to society on a number of levels.

The movie relates to me a bit, it is based on a true story, that took place on an IDF base on Mt. Hermon, which sits on the corners of Israel, Lebanon, and Syria. Popularly known as the "Ears of the State" because of the Intel garrisons there, it is the main base for my Brigade and Battalion, NACHAL G'dud 50th (Infantry/Paratrooper).

Anyway, the movie takes place during a pivotal time in my life, Operation Peace for Galilee (1982 -2000), or as it is more commonly known, *The First War in Lebanon* which is very much akin to what the Americans had in Viet Nam except that this war was much more brutal in warfare, as well as on the effects on Israeli society.

It was the first time in our history that people openly challenged the status quo in such a way, and in the movie an officer Yossi (equivalent to a Lt in the West) and an NCO named Jagger (equivalent to a Sgt) are posted, during that war, on that base, just as I was.

The NCO has felt alienated for such a long time, as he is gay in a very macho society (the way Westerners prep for sports teams and schools, we prep for military units), and Jagger has is own alienation problems as he finds himself to be a closeted homosexual, repressed, and also diamterically opposed to the war...yet as Israelis of his generation know, he could not do anything but serve his time and make do.

The movie is a homosexual love story, as I said, supposedly based on a true story, and has some very homoerotic scenes.

I am completely a heterosexual and to be honest, while we do accept openly gays into the army in Israel they are not really in the fighting units, just causes too much friction and cohesion is all important. As such I suppose that I am much like most Israelis in that I feel live and let live, just do not live around me.

Yet I see the movie and it is so haunting, the photography, the atmosphere, filmed entirely on location of course. It effected me on many different levels and a flim that can do that has much more value than some societal oddity piece, or piece of social criticism, or art house curio. I hope others take the time to see the film, it is in English subtitles for those who cannot speak Hebrew (in the army we have our own dialect really so even if you speak Hebrew, maybe you ought to read the subtitles, hahaha).

Anyway, the song I love from the movie is called *Ratziti* which in English means *I Want.* It is a remix of a song by Yehudah Levi but on Youtube, where I will link to it, they have it attributed to the Israeli singer Ivri Lider, a well known openly homosexual artist who was also featured on the soundtrack. Lider is a great singer but he did not do this song.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4d1Uf4Cz78

Reading wise, well I have been mostly relying on books through the Gutenburg Project which is a worldwide effort to digitalise books in many languages. Google had the brainstorm to make as many books as possible, freely accessible, but of course the powers that be said, *Wait! That will cut into potential profits! Something like 8% of our worldwide net will be lost! No Way Jose!!!*

Google had to rethink that grand idea, one result is their new gadget which I need to buy on my next trip to the mainland. On this gadget you can use your Debit or Credit Card to immediately download the text of most any book for a nominal fee. Great for a guy like me who cannot find much of anything to read in this country.

For some reasons, there are book stalls here in the Philippine Malls, no matter the city, I have seen them in Davao City, Cebu City, Butuan, and even in Makati where they are selling books taken from one particular Minnesota library! WTF? Someone has quite the little scam rolling around and meanwhile I am innundated with cloying romance novels and the odd LeCarre or some other halfway readbale 50 US Cents worth of drivel. From time to time I do manage to find a gem but those times are far and few in between.


The Gutenburg Project though, now I believe still connected with Google is working with university libraries from all around the world to digitilise books past copyright, like very early 20th Century and beyond but the availability still leaves alot to be desired.

A couple of really interesting things I have been able to read though are early acounts of the different Filipino ethnicities and how they were 100 years ago, 300 years ago and so on. It is amazing how much precious culture has been obliterated by imperialism and colonialism.

I was very keen to see that many Bisaya (my wife's People) myths are Indian in origin, as in Hindu. Funny how out of the entire Rim only Bali has managed to retain this rich Hindu culture! True, these islands would have been on the extreme range of the Indian influences but still it is interesting (to me) to see the use of the word *Rajah* for *Prince* and so on.

From time to time Chinese porcelain in pristine condition and dated about 1100 years old (about the time my wife's People sailed here from Borneo) is found in the bush, or a pefect gold figurine but there is no evidence at all of any grand civlisations like the Javanese or Balinese. Who knows, maybe one day some intrepid lad might uncover a small temple complex. Would that be something?

Speaking of which...What IS going on out in the bush nowadays? Well I had to leave Cebu to be back here for the Day of the Dead (November 1st) holiday.

All the family members go to the family cemetery where all family members usually rest, and the graves are cleaned, weeded, and so on, and made ready for the party to honour the ancestors on that day. Obligatory *Lechon Baboi* (meaning *Roasted Pig on a spit*), San Miguel Beer which is like the national drink, soda for folks like me who do not drink, and chiken (Manok) and of course the ever present salt water fish.

There are 2 main graves where we gather, by the *Old Man* who is Mum's dad, *Don Beldad*, my wife's grandad the man who originally rode a pump steamer up the Augusan River and cleared the thousands of hecatres of land that became the basis for his empire. Buried next to his 2 meter high crypt is the much smaller edifice housing a little cousin who died when she was 6, from Dengue about 3 years ago.

The cemetery is on National Hiway almost on the line with the Provincial capital, the village of Propseridad, but close enough to San Franz (our village) to make it relatively safe even in these dangerous times.


I will continue shortly in case of a character count...