Blogs

I have been a save-the-planet type of environmentalist since before I was a preteen.

Climate change (with its surplus of support being evinced by scientists and intellectuals, and having been corroborated by a seemingly inexhaustible amount of practically incontrovertible and exceedingly rigorous scientific research, data, and careful analyses) was the first topic I had researched extensively about what I was lead to think of as humanity's thoughtless destruction, greedy and haphazard despoilment, and unchecked and unconcerned depletion of the lithosphere and decimation of its biosphere.

That was when I was about 13 years old.

When I got a little older, I remember stumbling upon this very popular YouTube video (q.v. https://youtu.be/zORv8wwiadQ) wherein some guy, Greg Craven, argues the case for environmentalism by essentially narrowing the situation down to essentially two choices:

Choice A.) Humanity can be incredulous and skeptical about climate change, then do nothing to prevent or curtail or reverse the damages the planet has so far sustained, only for us all to be annihilated by the possibility of some self-caused natural calamity we never prepared for or tried to prevent or even acknowledged; or

Choice B.) Humanity can invest money to fund taking action to prevent or prepare for such a calamity, regardless of whether the science is mistaken and the data are wrong, effectively preventing our almost certain extinction from an environmental threat—whether imaginary or real.


Obviously, at least to thinking humans, choice B, while possibly advancing the allocation of trillions of dollars in the desperate hope to protect something that may be either unprotectible or unreal, is most sensible of the two choices. It would be tantamount to buying an umbrella today to prevent getting soaked by a rainstorm tomorrow. Even if those forecasted torrential rains never come, having the umbrella without needing it still seems more sensible to me than needing the umbrella and not having it.

But lately, my opinions have changed. Here's why:

1.) Mass extinction events are a frequent occurrence on Earth (consider the worldwide extinction of the dinosaurs and all other animals larger than, say, a chihuahua which occurred 65 million years ago, all by single a meteor).

2.) It is therefore reasonable to assume that such a terrifyingly destructive extraterrestrial threat will happen again. It's just a matter of time before a monstrosity of a meteor, for example, comes into our trajectory and we don't have the technological capabilities to thwart or explode the largest rocks in even the meteor belt just past Mars. What about a very unfortunately well-aimed gamma ray burst?

3.) Worse still, what if we were to invest in the preservation of our Earth's geologically very brief period of human-sustaining conditions, but our efforts and endeavors are still as unavailing as if we hadn't done anything? What then? We've only wasted money and time without anything tangible or appreciable to show for it.

4.) In light of this diversity of known knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns (Rumsfeld allusion; his logic is perfectly valid here) of threats which may have results of inescapable mass death and extinction, as well as the irony of humanity trying to clean up and "save" a planet we were too irresponsible to keep clean and safe for millennia in the first place, the aforementioned "case" for environmentalism seems more of a false dichotomy than a collectively exhaustive binary set of events.

5.) How can we trust our race to fix what we were too stupid or careless or irresponsible to not break at the outset? Any possible solution to our environmental malady couldn't possibly be trusted to work if the responsibility or onus of finding and implementing that solution falls on the people (our race) that proved their impotence and incompetence by first having caused the problem we now feel drunk enough on our own pseudo-omnipotent abilities to remedy. That's not advisable, it is disquietingly absurd.

6.) Is saving the planet (or, to put it less euphemistically and magnanimous, saving ourselves) even feasible over the long run? Or do we not care and are simply trying to insert meaning into our lives by deluding ourselves into accepting the preposterous notion that we humans can actually save a whole planet (but can barely locate a matching pair of socks in the morning)? And by recycling? Being vegan? Come on. I'd call it stupid, but it seems more like societal schizophrenia than plain imprudence.

7.) Since this rock called Earth and all its biology and geology will eventually die or become unrecognizably disfigured no matter what we do or do not do whilst blindly in love with this flawed and faltering planet, and since planting urban gardens, restoring the rainforests, saving the ozone, etc., are all patently abortive, why don't we do the exact opposite of environmentalism? I personally think we evolved our incredible brains not just to sit on this blue-green boulder for the entirety of our species short existence and act as its bodyguard.

8.) Rather, I think we should mine, excavate, dredge up, disinter, and use every resource this incommodious little rock harbors. We should use every nutrient, every element and their isotopes, every thing there is to take for the taking. Then, cooperating all as one race and with every human's helping hand, we should invest all our money and wealth into science to motivate the preponderance of underpaid scientists to get to work using their recently begotten wherewithal to research and investigate more efficient ways of space exploration.

9.) Then, utilizing our procured resources we shoveled up from the ground, we could use our new scientific research and use it to inform the construction of better spacecraft, and then we might just be able emigrate from this Godforsaken planet and head somewhere more habitable. Transforming ourselves from a sedentary species into a technologically advanced, space-exploring nomadic race.

10.) Planting trees and saving endangered species is a waste of precious time. This planet as we know it will change and we will all die one day. It could be another Ice Age; a supervolcanic eruption or a reactivated massive caldera; a lucky-shot gamma ray burst; a meteor too large to do anything realistic about; the possibility of our environmental destruction being like an irreversible snowball effect, being too far gone to go back; the ice sheets continuing to melt and rising sea levels such that only montane environments, at most, are habitable; and so on.

11.) We need to get over these abandonment issues we have with the Earth, pack up our shit, and go someplace less unstable, less uninhabitable, and start a new existence, in my opinion. I mean, this isn't some dope-inspired, quixotic pipe dream eithe:
Cosmic Census Finds Billions of Planets that Could be Earth-Like
Prevalence of Earth-size planets orbiting Sun-like stars
There are other planets that could theoretically support our existence. All we need is the technological sophistication to get to them and then we can say goodbye for good to this precarious rock. But we may never achieve extrasolar space travel. But the possibility still exists, if only we had some adequately smart and discerning scientists working o7 the job and only if the whole 7.5 billion of us are willing to get involved any way we know how. Then it's even more possible.
But, one thing that will never be a possibility is saving this planet. You can't save it, no more than you can save someone by rescuing them from a collision with an oncoming train. All one can really do is prolong the lifespan, but death is incredibly resourceful; what doesn't kill you only makes the probability of a future death less unlikely.
In summary, I think we should make the most of what we've got, and use up everything this planet has to offer, so as to build and develop ways to leave it.
But I'm interested in other people's perspectives. So, should we save the environment or invest our finite resources and money in leaving it for someplace that doesn't need saving?
Soja everything changes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IshazvspKI

God I really miss my old friends. I just feel alone right now for some reason. Rationally I cant complain but I still feel sad about it. I just feel lost on this Saturday. I keep wondering what can I do to be a better friend, son, and just person. I try to be honest thoughtful and loyal but I come up short sometimes. I don't know what else I can do. I miss the past. I miss Electric Forest. I miss New years eve sound tribe. I miss Panic in the rain on good roll. I miss it all yet it cant happen again. I am sure I will have another time when I feel that stable and connected. I just wish it was now. I wish I could just call up my friend and go hang out. I wish things where not complicated but they are. In my heart I know its tears over spilt milk but I still feel it strongly.
headed out to Cali to see the lovely lady; things have been great on my end and all is well when it comes to drugs/addiction and all the problems I have had.

who would have thought I'd have my license back, moved into a new apt, have been sober around 3 months w/ a very few slips, and now working w/ my father and hopefully taking over the company over the next 5-10yrs - we'll see.. maybe I am just dreaming right now but who knows how things can be! I just need to stay sober, stay on the right track, and continue to see things change for the GOOD.. FINALLY! imagine? ha.

this is all due to me being fucking clean! well, suboxone and gaba but that is clean as a MOFO in my eyes, right? esp. coming from a heroin junkie! I never thought things would change but they finally have and I am seeing the GOOD THINGS and feeling GREAT overall.

headed out tonight to see the lovely lady in LA; by out I mean jumping on a plane and headed out to LA which is where shes at as of now! but its KINDA like a mini vacation but its nice because I am visiting the lady and getting to see her for a week straight! so all is good in the hood as of late; I am truly confident that things will continue to go well; who would have thought!? not me.. but I an happy things have gone this way and have no urge to go back to that miserable life I was living.
If you're reading this, you haven't killed yourself. Continue pissing, shitting, eating, jacking off, scouring for pussy, and consuming reality altering substances between sleep sessions until it all ceases. Then, we shall meet again.
For the PAWS, there is much that could be done but isn't in the general practice. The alzheimer's drug and NMDA antagonist memantine could be prescribed off-label and it is the fucking best thing available by prescription to get off opioid habits and to restore dopamine / endorphin neurotransmission. Only the dose needs to be high enough, in studies they used up to 60mg and this is okay.

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18026718
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/11512037
http://www.nature.com/articles/srep10140
and so on

But even dextromethorphan can help:
http://www.hindawi.com/journals/isrn/2013/546030/

Really, share and spread this information. It works. It is true harm and suffering reduction.
I'll post more related stuff soon when I have the time.
... really has gone out of control. It's incredible that any 15 years old can easily buy any drug online, having it delivered stealthy to his door. (and the more easily accessible ones are the even more dangerous ones, because of lack of research)

I thought about this in the early 2008's when Mephedrone became popular in Switzerland. That the governments will be forced to do something. Either in the positive direction (legalization, regulation, harm reduction, protection of the youth) or in the negative (more prohibition, more ruined lives, analogue laws everywhere, serious impact on science/research and collateral damage to all of these who responsibly use drugs). I hoped but of course, the world has gone the latter way.

But things can still be changed, every day. The legalization of cannabis in the USA is a great beginning, but they have to continue and finally drop this fucking stupid senseless war on drugs - war on people, supporting organized crime and all that.
Legalising cannabis in the UK 'would raise hundreds of millions in taxes'

slimvictor said:
Great, but that is not why it should be legalized.
It should be legalized for human freedom to explore consciousness, to relieve pain, and to use the plants that nature has put on this earth.
Also, to stop putting people in jail for using drugs.

Yes, fully agree, but in today's unfortunately ignorant capitalistic world the tax thing could be more promising to get it through. I'm happy to see that sometimes sober facts nevertheless get attention, in times where common sense seems to be chronically out of stock.. And the fact that legalizing would drain so much income and structures of organized crime, not only with marijuana but even more so with things like cocaine, heroine ... they could save million's lives, billions of tax income wasted for prohibition and senseless police activities, all that ...

Portugal has made the first step by decriminalizing the possession of small amounts of any drugs. They did not see an increase in drug consumption or addiction.
The world should finally look on the bright side of things instead of always looking for the catches.. this makes me so sad. We have such endless opportunities in our 21st century, and people are busy to sabotage anything possible.

(Yeah, this point of view has been proudly presented by Research Chemicals® ;) in a previously suicidally depressed individual.)
It was back in 2005 when severe depression finally hit me, I think I wasn't really conscious about it but I was borderline suicidally. The first drug after ethanol I did was OTC dextromethorphan, a powerful dissociative, but I knew nothing about the matter..

But I've felt that strong energy it had. A lot of weird, disturbing (side) effects of course, trippy and psychedelic, but it was such a powerful antidepressant, flooding me with will to life, realizing the pure beauty of the nature, all the achievements of evolution and the science, ... so much for a depressed teenager. It came to my mind that it could make such a huge advance to give suicidal individuals something like that, letting them to rethink about life, instead of jailing them and sedating the hell out of with neuroleptics ...

And now we have the research on Ketamine as a novel, game-changing, rapid antidepressant for therapy resistant persons. That's so amazing!!

---

Other related memory ....

The first trip is always like an initially blank page of paper. One can try to correct damaging connections done afterwards but it's harder than to go the good route from the beginning. Prohibition is responsible for much of the lasting disorders from drug consumption ... and I believe it's much more subtle than just the obvious delusions some poor individuals are suffering from.

I'm not really into psychedelics, because they are too powerful and unpredictable for me to take them alone (and I have yet to meet the person who I'd trust enough to accept him/her as a trip sitter). But dissociatives can be equally strong. I remember one of my very early DXM trips (around 500mg I think) when I listened to a psytrance album I didn't really know.. there was an appealing, soft but powerful voice telling me to just lest drift, not to have any more anxiety ... I thought it was on the disc, but it wasn't! I've been and still am suffering from severe, mostly socially related anxiety, but have been flying on a bliss of euphoria for at least two or three weeks after that trip.

Just recently read that the dissociative experience and hypnosis have much in common. This is such a fucking powerful energy one can mess with.. I'm glad it didn't go wrong for me (suspect that other, less intense but still lasting trip experiences had negative impacts though) but it could easily have.
The Adenosine Hypothesis of Schizophrenia - opportunities for pharmacotherapy Excellent & very interesting research ... many things that have been known for years and almost nobody outside of universities and people at places like here cares about .....
I feel so utterly snubbed that one of the most 'developed' countries in Europe wants to put me in jail just because of curiosity, interest, addiction to knowledge and thinking differently than the mainstream. I've never hurt anyone. I've never sold or given drugs or harmful substances to other people. There was an accident with a cut / adulterated RC opioid that let me fear of an OD. Some silly guy called the police when I was in emergency care (with unbelievably ignorant doctors, I don't wish such an experience to anyone besides these politicians responsible for all the war...) and now I'm awaiting the lawsuit. They will force me through senseless drug 'detox' and 'therapy' and when I don't knuckle under there, they'll probably kick me into jail.... I still have hope (something I wouldn't have without the aid of drugs, I have been suicidally depressive before) but chances are that I'll have to kill myself to save me from the hell of prison and psychiatric ward (I'm emotionally over sensible..).

Just want to live. Learn. Study. Contribute to science. Being excited about the sheer possibilities of the 21st century. But they don't let me.
Sad world.
The wheel of the year is turning as it always had and always will and the arbitrary division that we have named May is once again shimmering on the horizon. My relationship with this month is so intense and that intensity does not fade with the passing of years.

February and May, the months that brought me my sons.

Pregnancy is such an amazing time. All the senses are heightened. You cry easily, laugh easily. Wonder fills you and you feel connected to something much greater than yourself; less ego as you begin the shift from thinking always about yourself to thinking always about someone else first.. And then there is birth--such a primal human experience. Right from the first contraction you are slapped with the biggest hit of existential alone-ness you have ever experienced. No one can do this but you. No one will feel this pain but you. Surrounded by nurses or midwives or family or out by yourself in a field this is on some level all yours and for now, no one else exists. So you enter into this separation from the oneness of carrying your baby to the reality that your baby is no longer a part of you but is about to take his first breath as his own self. It is all a bloody, animal, physical experience on the one hand and a transformational, miraculous and spiritual experience at the same time.

So for me the months that held my sons' births are sacred months. I've always been a gardener and I have an intimate relationship with my garden; a relationship built like all good relationships over time, with observation and knowledge that builds and deepens with the years. I know when bulbs are swelling underground, when seeds should be sprouting from last year's scattering, what the gophers have decimated and what the birds have dropped. February, Tyler's month, holds tiny violets and tall elegant calla lilies, camellias and paper white narcissus. Most of the garden is asleep still even though these winters are mild. But Caleb's month, May, is a riot of blooming plants, new green on the tips of everything from the oaks to the honeysuckle. It is lush and alive and overwhelmingly beautiful. There is not a place in the garden that is not alive with bees and hummingbirds and flowers unfurling.

Here comes May again. Glorious month that was glorious before your conception or my conception, glorious before this garden and any other garden, glorious whether or not either of us ever lived or died in it. I've always thought that your birthday contributed in some way to your death--that turning twenty scared you because of where you were in life--and how harshly you judged yourself for it. It's a big year in a young person's mind. It was for me and I assume it was for you. I was just starting to come out of my own cave at twenty; you were going in further. I did not want you to die in that cave. All of May was still happening right outside the entrance. All of who you were when you and I entered into the birth dance as partners, was still evident, still intact, still there for you to use: your courage, your determination, your thirst to be born and get your show on the road.

I try not to dread May, not to dread the arrival of your birthday and all the flood of grief that brings, not to dread the day of your death just three weeks later and all the horror that wells up inevitably. The garden is a savior. There are vines to cut back, weeds to pull, roses and alstomeria to deadhead, beds to clear, seedlings to squeeze in. It's not the garden it was when you were alive. It's overgrown and messy and half wild. The Tibetan prayer flags are only tatters on a string. They make no noise in the wind anymore. Neighbors still ask when I will take them down and I shrug. Probably never, I think. I moved into this house and started this garden one month before you were born. I was heavy with you when I planted the first bulbs, the little saplings, the roses and ferns. They will outlive both of us then. There is a strange comfort in that, one that you used to talk to me about. You said so many things that stay with me. You said we don't matter at all. True. You also said not to miss the chance to love while it was right in front of you. Truer, I think.

So, I do love May. Still. But it is not an innocent and happy love as it once was. It is the kind of love that is so deep that there is room for those huge hideous creatures that swim around in the shadows far from the penetration of the sun's rays. Still, on the surface, sun dancing crazily, shimmering geometry of color and light. Remember how we loved to touch the bottom of the river? Down through the layers of green light to the dark and back up again. My favorite part was the middle--just enough light to make a milky sage color--the knowledge of darkness under you and warm peridot sunlight above.

Think about that river. The river that I dipped you into as an infant, your little legs kicking and wild joy in your face; the river that you splashed in as a toddler in your little blow-up water wings, the river that you flew into from the arc of the rope swing, the river that you kissed your girlfriend in, floating downstream in the little boat, the river that I put some of your ashes into. For now, I am that river. Here before you, here beyond you. Holding onto nothing but carrying everything.
Dear cigarette smokers.

Undoubtedly there is an aspect to your habit which involves a realization (however faint or acute) that you are shortening your life span by smoking. That's fine, but don't you know there are much more interesting drugs to slowly kill yourself with? Sure, not all of them are legal, but that's part of the fun! Don't swallow the "it's legal, so it's better" tripe - there's a big wide pharmacological world out there for you to explore and innumerable substances for you to potentially get addicted to and reduce your life span with. As I always say - don't delay, quit smoking and swap addictions today!
its been 2-3 months and I've been what some call "clean". yes, I use suboxone and gabapentin daily because I am scripted for a number of reasons, but I am no longer putting a needle in my arm and no longer spending every dollar I have on dope! it makes me sick to even think that I put that type of money on something that has ruined my life in so many ways; I feel I have moved on and I am ready for the next thing in life.

I am 32yrs old and have fucked up way too many times; I am finally starting to come clean, be clean, and stay clean, and feel I have a wonderful road infront of me. this is not something I have thought in the past when trying to get clean but I have moved on in so many ways; I recently moved into a new apartment; its actually my grandmothers house who passed away and left it to her son, my father, who is putting my name on it and will be leaving the house to me. he and I have working side by side for the past 3 months and he sees the change; I was working Software Sales for years and it drove me nuts; I shot dope in the bathrooms and would be miserable 8-5. since getting clean I left the job and started working w/ my father which is actual labor work and through the company he runs, so its a lot different but I feel alive and I am NOT MISERABLE DAILY!

I changed jobs, as i just mentioned. I changed locations. I changed my outlook on life. I have found a girl who I truly believe is amazing, and seems to be a lot like me, which is another thing I like. yes, she was a past user herself but has been clean (on maintenance) and doing great herself. all these things now put a smile on my face; this is an actual smile and not just me faking which has been happening for many years.

seriously, I am finally happy. I got my license back - imagine!? I have a breathalyzer in the car - I DONT CARE! I was never a drinker anyway, even w/ 2 DUI's. so bye-bye alcohol - no worries there. I am just confident with my life for the first time in a long time and I actually have people, family, other looking at my differently; looking at me as a NORMAL HUMAN BEING and someone who can get stuff done w/ life.

I have no been this happy in a long ass fucking time!

heroin has fucking ruined my life for many years and its finally time I say GOODBYE! for good!
I'm working on an autobiographical short story tentatively called "a White Trash X-Mas." I changed a few details, but mostly it is from my childhood as I remember it. Here is a little bit of it.

Hello. My name is Robin G. I was very sick when I was a little boy. Somethuing was wrong with my leg. The doctor said i would never be able to run.

My mother used to lower me into a bath. It was some kind of tub that was on the kitchen table. One time the phone rang. my mother went to answer it. i sank. It felt peaceful. I remembver looking up thourhg th e water. Everything was bright and distorted. The ceiling lamp above the water was dazzling. That is all I remember of that day. Soon, probably a few days later, somethign was wrong with my left arm. It hurt badly and I couldn't use it. I was left-handed. WAS left-handed. The tub had fallen while I was unattended and my arm had been broken. My parents did not take me to a hospital.

In the early 1900s in Appalachia, George Went Hensley, a Pentecostal minister, popularized snake handling as a demonstration of ones faith or devotion to Jesus. In the ritual, the faithfull rolls up her sleeves and reaches into a box and picks up a rattlesnake bare handed. The snake is encouraged to wrap around her body, arms, drape itself over her shoulders. All the while, the faithful are carrying on. They are hollering, jumping, dancing, singing, stomping around, and chanting in nonsensical babbling sylables they call "Speaking in Tongues." As is often the case with Christian Snake Handlers who demonstrate their belief this way, Hensley himself died from a snake bite in 1955.

Even today, some species of Fundamentalist Christians handle poisonous snakes as a demonstration of their "faith." The whole operation is based on, I believe, a single quote from the New Testament:

"And these signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover. (Mark 16:17-18 )"

One Sunday morning, my mother (my father wasn't around much during this part of my life) took me to a Church. I had been there before and would be taken there many more times. An itinerant preacher would be there that day. He could heal the sick by praying by "laying on hands." He was a faith healer and could heal "lameness, blindness, gout, dropsy, cancer" anything, as my mother explained. All I had to do was believe, to have Faith, and I would be healed. It didn't even have to be much faith. It was enough even if it was small as a mustard seed (A mustard seed is the size of a speck of dust). Like any young child, I was a Believer. I believed whatever my parents, Sunday school teacher, and other adults told me.

The car ride there was full of anticipation. We lived in the country and it was a long ride over some mountains and into another valley. I remember praying and "believing" and trying to build up my Faith nearly the whole way. My mom had told there might be snakes too. Wow! They had snakes. Like many curious little boys, I looked forward to seeing snakes, no holding snakes, especially poisonous ones the kind they had at this church in I forgot the name of the town somewhere in Oregon. Was it near Eugene? Or was it Rosedale?

By the time we arrived, I was believing pretty hard. We went in, me hobbling behind my mother, and despite my pain, I was all excited. Anyway, at the lobby entrance was a registration desk where people were paying or making "donations" to get in. I remember this because on the way home, she would remind me that she had spent a lot of money and that it had been a financial sacrifice because of me. My mother began filling out a card with my name, ailment, and I don't know what.

It was crowded. People kept coming in. They looked so strange. The women wore head coverings and pioneer dresses. They were gingham or denim and reminded me of Little House on the Prairie, a TV serial on around that time. For some reason, all the women seemed burly. Maybe it was because the dresses accentuated the thickness of their waists. Many also had white nurse tennis shoes. Even at a preschool age, those white tennis shoes bothered me. They did not go with the dresses. Some of their socks might have been black too or is that only old men in Bermuda shorts who do that? Their hair was gathered above their heads in buns with some sort of bonnet.

My mother said something on the lines of even if the pastor dosen't pick my card, if I believe and pray, I will be healed merely by being in the same room with him. We went into the main chamber. It was much like an arena or auditorium. It was crowded and very hot and stuffy. The stage was beyond the crowd on the other end of the room. Being a small child, I couldn't see through the crowd, and it was impossible to tell what was going on. I left my mother behind and tried to squeeze through to the front. Every now and then somebody with a microphone would call a name, but it was never mine. The very front towards the stage was blocked. I could make out glimpses of the preacher with a microphone under flood lights on a stage.

Time passed, but I didn't see any snakes....
Oh where to begin? I've never blogged in my life, so this may suck, but I must get some things off my chest. First off, I am a 26 year old male living in the U.S. Ive been using drugs off and on(almost entirely on) since 15 years old when I first tried alcohol and cannabis. Even before then, I was obsessed with psychoactive drugs. I don't really know what started this obsession. I was diagnosed with ADD in the second grade, and prescribed Methylphenidate in the form of Ritalin.I remember being with my parents and the psychiatrist after he said my diagnosis, and my dad cried. That made me feel like something was wrong with me, like I was broken or something. I also felt anger towards him, like why the fuck are you sad at least you know what it is. By the way I do not beleive A.D.D. being actually one disorder, I think kids are hyperactive and inattentive because of a host of different things, including but not limited to psychological/mental disorder.It was ir, so one in the morning,one at lunch. I'm not sure the dosage, but I'm sure it was low as at the time I weighed probably 50 pounds. I absolutely hated this drug. It helped me concentrate on school, but it also turned me into a zombie incapable of socializing. So I wouldn't take it. I mean to say I would in the morning because for some reason I was convinced my parents would catch me cheeking it(actually under the tongue I did but that's the only term I know for it), but I wasn't worried about the school nurse who liked me and wasn't very suspecting. They would give it to me right before lunch, so I would keep it under my toungue until I got to the luch room, then dispose of it in the trash can. Well one day, after having done this for quite a while, one of the kids in kine asked me what I had take out of my mouth and thrown away. I wanted to show off so I told them it was my meds. This student, not knowing what kind of meds it was, alerted the faculty, and from then on the nurse had me open my mouth and lift my tongue so she could thouroughly check for the pill. So I had to take both doses every school day. I was vey angry at the student who told on me, but later realized she was only concerned for my health. I hated how they made me feel during the day, and this hatred was only surpassed by the absolute horror the crash every night would have me. It was so depressing I couldnt enjoy anything, I could only dwell on how much I did not want to have to do the shit all over again the next day. In middle school, I got a new nurse, so yayyy I can start cheeking them again. Then, in sixth grade, I told my parents flat out I would not take it anymore, and I meant it. They responded by saying that they would let me go off and see how it went, but as I said, my mind was already made up. Completely off that stuff, I found I could socialize alot better, however I was now drawn to the outcast/rebel types. I was always quite smart, so I could still keel my grades well enough to pass, while not really giving a shit about schoolwork. The exception was social studies, as I was always quite intersted in history. This was also the start of my obsession with psychoactive chemicals. I would sit in the school library and read the short little books they had on marijuana and other drugs, which were basically just anti-drug propaganda. Somehow I already knew the downsides were being exaggerated in attempt to steer the young away from use. This is also where I guess you could say I read my first experience reports, which were not very long and once again aimed more at showing the negative sides. I was still too scared to try anything, or possibly more that I just had no sources. Haha. I was completely obsessed with the ability to change mood and perception with the simple act of cosumption of a chemical. I guess I was just longing for escape already, which I now find sad as most kids my age were too busy with the joys of childhood to be worried about escaping from their everyday reality. I should state here that both my parents were functional alcoholics, which I didnt fully realize yet at this juncture. My family was pretty dysfunctional, but my parents did love me and never neglected or abused me, yet it was far from the ideal home life. To Be Continued.........
So, with my wife parting ways with me at the Ben Gurion airport, heading back to Moscow, I pressed 5 thousand rubles in her hand and she stood in line to wait to go on her flight.

I walked out, heavy heart, but since we had made up before she left, i felt much better than i normally would. i jumped in the taxi i had called and he drove me to the central bus station. we discussed immigration to europe and how europe is committing suicide, how the mass immigration waves will destroy europe for good, and the driver agreed. "they are insane, insane people, this is why we should thank god we have israel, that will never happen here." as he said that, the lewinsky street scene appeared, and i felt on edge. africans were all over, crossing back and forth. "but we do have these filthy africans here, but soon they will be deported, they are all criminals, filth, liars." i nodded, not one to egg on violent xenophobia, even if i disprove of suicidal immigration policy. we all have limits.

the cab pulled up, and the driver turned to me. "god bless you, welcome home to OUR land, be careful my son, be careful" i nodded, paid him, and walked away.

the first thing you do with no connects, no numbers, no leads is, you research "crime areas" "known drug areas" and if you are lucky you will read police reports, news articles and more. my research i had done up before this point led me to rough area near the "two central stations", and i figured i would try my luck, seeing as how i was marooned in tel aviv for another 48 hours due to rosh hashana, and i had 800 shekels to drop. my research led me to believe that i could be overcharged, and i compiled a list of terms i could use to get my point across.

almost all the time junkies are standoffish. in the usa, you get asked if you are "a cop" many times, not because they believe you will tell them if you are, but to judge your reaction. if you sweat it or do anything but laugh or smile, they know, and ditch you.

in Israel - this is not the case for some reason. i dont know why, but no one suspected a thing. within 3 minutes i found an obvious junkie sitting on the ground wearing a cast on his food begging for change. i put it to him bluntly "hey bruv, you speak english?" he smiled and nodded. "yeah", and i said "wanna make some cash bruv?" he nodded. i used slang i had picked up, ad then for good measure said "heroin" to him. he stood right the fuck up and said "ok i will take you to dealer".

we ended up walking down to a dope spot, and all the time, i wondered if he was taking me to get robbed at gun point, or if cops would stop us. he was drooling out of his mouth, laughing wildly, shouting, basically all te shit you DO NOT do when trying to cop hard drugs.

well, we walk along slowly, as he is hobbling. everyone is staring at us, and it is obvious why i am with him. i felt the cops coming down on me, but kept goin despite it.

ten minutes later, under the bridge of a well known train station, the junkie led me to some benches, told me to sit, and took my money to score a gram of heroin.

we went to an area nearby and dumped out some powder and sniffed it, while little african children ran around us. it was akward. i parted ways with the junkie who wanted to meet up asap and took off with the rest of my shit.

i called a friend and walked through south tel aviv high as hell, stopping to take bumps. i got to a hostel, booked a room and spent the time snorting my gram, and then when i was plesently high, i strolled out and bumped into a gorgeous polish girl, and began spitting game immediately. she ate it up. but when i pushed to escalate, and offered food, she kept refusing, not a good sign, so left her and went to go eat, came back, went to bed, and the next day left the hostel early.

i walked back to the dope spot, and saw a man sitting there who was there from before, i handed him money and he went and got it, handed it to me, and i thanked him and walked away. he kept speaking russian to me, telling me he was happy another russian had come.

from this point on, i always came to the same place to score. no matter what time of the day or night, there is someone standing outside, ready to sell as much as you want. my routine goes as follows.

by the dope, and if it isnt hot, sit and chill and do my stuff under the bridge. if it is hot, walk into the bus station, go down deep into the lower levels where i have a spot i go to, dump out my gram and snort it all. then as the dope hits, i walk slowly upstairs through the deserted complex and buy some pizza, eat it, and then go catch my bus home where i talk all night to friends.
I usually write this shit just to keep myself updated so here we go - I got the license back! the RMV fucked up and skipped the permit/parking phase of what SHOULD have happened and gave me the license the day I went just to register the car I had to buy!

spending $350/mo on insurance and $100/mo on the breathalyzer - imagine? thats $450/mo for a 2003 Acura TL sport. it has 80k miles and I paid 6k for it. car runs great and all has been good so far, so lets hope all keeps up. it feels fucking great to be back on the road; almost as if I never left, so its been over a year - a year and 3 months to be exact but I am back!

this is good, cuz I just graduated my DUI classes and finished the program, so I am going to TRY and get off probation early and see what happens; it really should run till June but last time I was able to get off early and this time around I will do the same!

thats all, just an update.. been doing great w/ not using dope, great w/ the girl, and great w/ life and finally moving out of this house where I almost killed myself 10+ times.

bye-bye!
Aboard Philippine Airlines I ended up behind a couple despite Business Class being almost empty. Go figure. She was a somewhat attractive Filipina and he appeared to be Burmese. I would have been interested to learn how they met but meet they did and were clearly deeply into each other. It isnt a long flight but still came with a meal. On most airlines Business Class comes with a superior meal. Not so with most SE Asian carriers.

In Manila at just after 5PM I made my way next door to Philippine Airlines domestic terminal. Usually in the Philippines you must travel to a separate airport for domestic flights. Not so with Philipines Airlines. The terminal, next door, is threadbare with the only eatery being a horrid "Jollibee," the quinesential Filipino fastfood joint, located outside inbetween the two terminals. I plugged in my iPhone to a socket behind the closed ticket counter and surfed the internet.

The next morning I passed through Security and made my way to a charging kiosk to once again surf the internet before boarding my next flight. It was then that once again I found that my American passport was missing! I was sitting in between a young man on my left and a well dressed woman on my right-both Filpinos- and my initial thought was that it had been stolen. I made my way to Security, it wasnt there. I then went back out to the ticket counter to ascertain whether I had left it there. You would think that with as much travelling as I do that I would not fall prey to such confusion but this trip is a tad bit different than most for reasons I will eventually get to.

Failing to find my passport I worriedly made my way back through Security and bought myself some nondescript juice. As I sat drinking it a Security officer came and told me that in fact my passport had turned up after all. A pair of middle aged Filipinas had found it not far from the Security station. Despite their insistence to the contrary I gave them a fistfull of Thai Baht, maybe $70.00 US worth, and much relieved boarded my flight to Cebu.
All night I kept waking every hour or so afraid to miss my flight to Manila. An intelligent person would rely upon a wake up call but then I have never taken the easy route. Finally, at just before 11AM I jumped out of bed fearful of missing my 130PM flight. I had the hotel call a courtesy van and climbed in amidst Aussie twAts who had spent their parents money to take in Full Moon and Half Moon PArties. After listening to their bullshite for a few minutes I turned nasty and asked them why they had even botheted coming to Thailand. I explained that those fake-arse parties are used to fund the rape and murder of hundreds of civikaibs each month in the Pattani Sultanate.

Thailand does a magnificient job at obscuring the mayhem and murder that it inflicts while marketing itself as a tourist's dream. The OFFICIAL body count is close to 400 civilains each month (read: more or less 1,200 in reality). Pattani is an ancient Sultanate of ethnic Malayans, Muslims, who have been under Thai Occupation since independence). The shite taking place there, on both sides, would without a doubt make most of you lose your lunch. The corny parties that were fully commercialised 2 decades ago are used to fund paramilitary violence.

Meanwhile, up north, in Mae Sot for example, Karini Tribesmen are slaughtered on a daily basis by Myanmar. The Thai keep tens of thousands of Karini penned in like cattle in unofficial refugee camps where they are denied the most basic of services. Yet here were these 20-something dickheads bragging about parties. I should not be so hard on them but it taxes my patience listening to that drivel and well, you get the point...
While sitting at a couple of cafés, I came up with a list of Pet Peeves. I made the first part of the list in the US. I did it partially as therapy.

In general, bad manners and rudeness, but where to start?

1) the old classic, spitting on the side walk. If you need to hawk a wad of phlegm, at least make sure that ball of green goo goes in the street or the bushes where nobody will see it or step in it.
2) broken glass on the road or sidewalk

Next are some pet peeves involving annoying sounds. I never have been able to tune out distracting sounds and sights. I can't ignore little noises most people seem to tune out. For me, they get louder and more irritating each time the sound is repeated.

3) Loud eating noises:

LIP SMACKING -- Gross! Is that an Asian custom? I see Asian immigrants doing it more than natives.
Slurping Again, mostly Asian tourists on a bottom tier budget vacation package and new Asian immigrants of lower social caste do it, and it is usually with soup, ramen noodles, or coffee. Somebody said it was to cool their food,
but my food is hot too, and I don't subject others to that noise.

Sucking sounds. I went to a coffee shop the other day, and an old lady sat 2 tables away and immediately started attacking a cookie. She would peel the plastic wrapper bit by bit and alternate between nibbling the cookie and doing something that sounded like sloppy fellatio to the inside of the wrapper. It took her nearly an hour to finish and she was busy working at it the whole time. It was a frosted cookie, and the wrapper had frosting and crumbs stuck to the inside of it. The fact that I had headphones saved my sanity and her life that day.
tapping and scraping eating utensils against the vessel, especially in public: plate, dish, bowl, cup
If you are so poor that you need the sustenance form the last morsels of food that are stuck to the inside of your bowl at a restaurant, you should probably be saving your money by eating home-cooked food at home, preferably in private so you don't annoy your housemates.
saying "AHHHH!" after every sip
Eating potato chips in public with open mouth. This happens most at sandwich shops and is done by college age or younger people who still have a lot of irritating little idiosyncrasies and lack social skills. I don't eat at sandwich shops. The most obnoxious way to eat potato chips is to rattle the bag, stick you hand in it, rattle it some more, get exactly one potato chip, crash it in your mouth with you lips open so it makes that irritating crunching sound, and finally smack your open hands against your jeans or shirt and wipe noisily. Repeat that sequence of irritating sounds around 1000 times. Rattle, smack, rattle again, and wipe -- for each potato chip in the bag.

4) Loud nose blowing in public. If you really need to take care of a runny nose, wipe it quietly. If that doesn't work, excuse yourself to the toilet and do it where nobody will hear you. If you really can't avoid doing it around other people, GET IT OVER WITH! Don't sit there blowing noisily for 5 minutes. Cold season is here already.
5) cell phones and video teleconferences (Skype) at cafes or enclosed public space.
6) talking too loudly in public (indoors)
7) Proposing a toast and clinking glasses before every sip of a single alcoholic beverage. "Cheers!" Clink! Sip!"Cheers!" Clink! Sip!"Cheers!" Clink! Sip!"Cheers!" Clink! Sip!"Cheers!" Clink! When it's a pint of beer, that's a lot of toasts. It's excruciating and I'll never drink with you again. I hate you Andrew.
8 ) When you're at a restaurant and your date reaches across the table and helps herself to a bite of your food. Worse, when she does it over and over, as if she didn't notice your glare the first time she did it. If you want to sample my food, ask me and I'll set some aside on a dish or on your own plate. If that's not enough, order your own. But never touch my food. I didn't have enough to eat growing up, and when I did have food, people were always stealing it. It still bothers me.
9 ) Writing "loose" or "looser" when you mean "lose" or "loser." Why does everybody do that?
10 ) Smileys when I'm trying to make a numbered list 18)
11 ) driving a car when a bicycle or even walking is faster. Bad driving habits such as nuisance driving, cruising, and idling. All this does is make a bad situation worse. America has some severe traffic congestion problems, and San Fran is one of the most congested. And that's without getting into the ethics of wasting petroleum products obtained from war-torn regions of the world or AGW.
12) Nuisance barking. If you can't keep your dog reasonably quiet (multiple sessions of more than 15 minutes of non-stop yapping per day), you shouldn't have one.

I'm half deaf. If these things bother me, they must bother people with good hearing even more. It can't be "just me," right?

Fashion pet peeves of the day:
Here are some sartorial mistakes that hurt my eyes as I sat here and typed:

13 ) Acid washed blue jeans (including the high waistband that goes halfway up the chest) from the 1980s and cut off shirts from the 80s. A 20-something year old female German tourist wearing this get-up just walked by. These outfits were on display a few weeks ago in the window of the clothing store "Forever 21."
14 ) Sleeveless shirts with flabby arms. A decrepit Baby Boomer just walked by sporting a sleeveless vest over a sleeveless shirt. He doesn't have the arms to pull off the look. The effect was of reverse biceps that look like turkey waddle.

15 ) Drumming on the table.
16 ) Extreme extroverts who can't go without talking in between breaths. Being in the presence of someone with this diarrhea of the mouth is exhausting, especially when you can't leave. Silence is a good thing. Why does it make some people uncomfortable?

I noticed all of the above within the past week (summer 2014 San Francisco), and it's impossible not to encounter some of it when going out. I ignore it all as much as I can, but some of it just too hard to tune out.

17) Hats with animal ears. These things just will not go away. Unless the person wearing it is younger than 10 months old, she looks like a like a mentally disabled person. The other day day, a 60 something year old woman was wearing one of those things, and she and her non-mentally handicapped 'helper' sat at a table near me.
I have no idea what the appeal is. They think the hat says fun-loving and care-free, still-young-at-age-60, but all anybody else sees is Ree-Tee.

18 ) Subwoofers in apartments. In college, I was in a dorm and it seemed like half the students had subwoofers. They played them all day every day. It was Hell. I've avoided living in apartments all my life because of that - until now. Thankfully nobody in my building has them.

19) Creaky Girl. It's also known as "Vocal Fry." New names for an epidemic vocal affectation that plagues American college aged females. It"s the "Valley Girl" sound of the 2010s. To my disgust, it has spread to Europe and to some males. It fills me with rage whenever I hear it. At work down the hall from me, there is a male who does this, in French, and I want to murder him every time he talks.

I heard it again!!!!! Some twit tourist was doing it!!! Google 'vocal fry' and listen to some recordings if you don't know what it is.
Just like those animal hats with cat ears, you might think it's vaguely cutesy for the first 1/2 second you hear it, but then you realize that it is only appropriate for 1 year olds and adults with Down's Syndrome.

What makes me even madder is that you can't even criticize it without being called 'sexist.' Fans of this annoying speech pattern jump on anybody who complains and say they hate women and can't stand the fact that women are allowed to express themselves in modern society. Where were these defenders of teenaged voice patterns in the late 1990s when "Burned Out Stoner Voice" was popular among college aged males?

Whether it's a boy or a girl doing it, it grates across my nerves and causes me physical pain. It makes me want to kill. It sounds both childish (like an 11 year old trying to sound like an adult) and extremely irritating. Apparently Britney Spears or the Kardassian scum of Reality TV started this obnoxious fad.

Some morons at a bottom tier university wrote articles in a non-peer un-reviewed psychology journal about it claiming that 11 year old girls started it. They further claim that common suburban 11 year old girls are linguistic visionaries and trend setters and that in 1/2 a generation, we all will be speaking in 'Vocal Fry.'

Valley Girl Speak started in the 1970s and has never stopped sounding stupid. Teenie-bopper injection of the word 'like' every other word hasn't stopped sounding stupid. Vocal Fry/Creaky Gril Voice will always sound stupid too. I wish these people could hear how they sound and could experience the pain they inflict on anybody who hears them.

19) Neem body lotion. Very popular among women in the US. Over the years, I've blown off dozens of women who were only being friendly or flirting because I thougth they had a hygiene problem. This popular scentf smells very strong on hot summer days. For years, I thought it was crotch rot. The smell is very similar. Why so girls where this stuff? It's an insect repellent and fungicide. It's also a people repellent.

Now for some French ones.

20) "Ahh Buhhhhhh ouaui." This French phrase is like finger nails on a chalk board. For the most part, uneducated people here do it. It sounds closest to somebody doing an imation of someone with a mental disability in English. Lenny from Mice and Men I think made similar idiotic vocalizations.

21) Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. French sidewalks tend to be elbow-to-elbow crowded. People just stop and block the flow of traffic.
yes, it's been talked about 5 million and 1/2 times by now, but it still bothers the fuck out of me.

yes, I am a raging heroin addict w/ multiple overdoses and 2 DUI's and a million other things, but I have finally come around and have found a reason to live, do well, and go forward w/ life. I am in the final stages of getting my license back, saved up close to 10k to buy a car out right and then put all the money toward insurance and getting it on the road.

but what do I still get!? I get.. "your voice sounds different". "you've been acting different the last 2 weeks". "I really doubt you would pass a drug test right now". and a million more other things to the point where I threw a punch threw my fathers van and he blames "drug use" as to why I would be mad and punch.

yes, wrong thing to do, but he and I been battling for years.. years and years before drugs even started.

that was weeks ago, but today I got it more and more.. seriously, how do you handle this? yes, its my fault because I was the fucking super junkie for the past 12yrs w/ jail time, multiple programs and detoxes, multiple DUI's and totaled cars, etc. yes, I fucked up BIG TIME! but when do I get a fucking chance to show I am making a come back?

I am on suboxone; so to my mother and father, I am far from sober, and when certain things come out of my mouth, its the "suboxone talking".

I shot 1-2G's of heroin a day; the 12MG of bupe I take daily barely does a thing.

sometime I just cant talk it; which is why this rant is here.

if I even had the money or connection to get dope right now, it would be in my arm in about 20 minutes. luckily, things have changed and I cant even.
On the Thai side another bus company employee scooped me up as I departed the Thai Dangerous Drugs Inspection point and tried to make small talk as he walked me to the minivan which like the bus in Poi Pet was a great distance away from the crossing point. Of course his goal was to separate me from a bit of my money. It is funny how brushing by what could have easily been one's execution can place one in a great mood. Technically I did nothing illegal. I was not carrying illicit drugs but Cambodia has no prescription system. That coupled with the fact that the drugs I was carrying were Class As could have resulted in all kinds of nasty scenarios in Thailand.

Happy as can be I offered the buss company employee a tip. Boy was he happy...and then I gave him a fist full of Riel! Cambodian Riel officially exchange at 4,200 per US Dollar so that he got about 80 Cents all told. He made a cheeky half smile and muttered something that I imagine wasnt exactly friendly, abd then we were at the minivan.

I sat in the rear. Next to me was a Cambodian yuppie- so much as one exists, abd beside him was a college-aged German of Chilean descent. Offered the kid an Oxy as I gobbled 14 capsules but he had no idea what Oxycontin was, bless his heart, though more than likely was scared shiteless and decided to simply play dumb. The "yuppie" is a Quality Control bloke for Toys-R-Us and its subsidiaries in 3 regional nations. Always up and about he is tasked with accessing the quality and consistency of regional suppliers. He also has bog dreams at home, already owning a clothing outlet and engaged in land speculation as he hopes to bud a Western-style mall in an outlying mall.
Mall dreams aside he and I did get along well as we were in complete agreement about the state of things under Cambodian Dictator Hun Sen.

The German kid on the other hand had tried to enter Cambodia and had been rebuffed since he has less than 6 months left on his passport. I laughed and told him $20 US would have handled that. He seemed shocked at such bolden corruption but too late for that. We spent a somewhat pleasant 5 hours driving into Bangkok. Arriving in a city that seems more alien to me everytime I experience it the German lad and I then set about trying to make our way to Khan Sao Road for bargain basement accomodations.

7 klicks later aboard a tuk tuk we arrived. He went his way, and I mine, and agreed to possibly meet up later for supper. As it was I decided to sleep in. I went by Chabad House Khan Sao, one of five Jewish facilities in the city run by a Jewish organisation based in NYC. Some bouncer-type Israeli pretending to be security stood outside the entrance and surly asked me what I wanted. I answered that I would like to speak to the rabbi. He asked why and it became one of those mind numbing exchanges where each syllable is teased out a constanant at a time. I lost my patience fairly quickly and asked him if people usually give him a difficult time because I wasnt and just like him I am a Jew. Of course he kept telling me to piss off and keep walking yadda and yadda, yadda.

I then beat him in the head with a Jewish principle that 3-year olds learn by heart: Ahavat Yisrael (Love of Jews, idiomatically speaking). I am his brother and in this case his much elder brother and he needed to learn that real fast. He made a stupid face so an hpur later I got him fired. Chabad scoops up these losers who wash up in forlorn corners of the world whose only selling point is having been born from a Jewish mum. It then tries to help them, as in this case with a "make work" job.

Next I walked around the corner and checked into a dive called "Panee" something or other. Chinese-owned the a/c really did a job on my sinuses. After checking in I phoned the aforementioned rabbi and then met him for supper at his home. Later I slowly walked around Khan Sao and to my disgust it really has become a 42nd Street-type Disney World. I even had an icecream banana split at "Swensens!"
The whole mt thing has finally finished and i feel like i can breathe again. Hopefully no more 16 hour days, constant anxiety and having to hold everyone and everything together. Despite what some people think, i am not superwoman but just a human being with feelings n shit and no i can't handle being pulled in all directions no matter how much you pay me.

I had a life, did things, had hobbies. Now this is all I do practically. And drink. And take benzos. All in the hope of escaping to a quiet place and feeling something real, even if artificially induced.

I miss intimacy. Having someone to hug, wake up to, say i love you to, kiss goodnight. Sometimes i think im just destined to be a high powered lonely banker with noone to come home to. Maybe its time to get a cat? Lol
Top