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This is something that has frustrated me most of my life, and only now I start realize what it is. It is probably offensive and not politically correct, but I need to get it out of my system so I will rant about it here.
The girl on the left corresponds to my overall experience with American women both in looks and personality. Most people would consider her to be quite homely, but American Women who look and act like her consider themselves to be "out of my league." My first experience with just one American Woman in High School left me wishing it were possible to convert to homosexuality and marry a man.
The one onthe right represents my experience with foreign women (not just in France, but while dating foreign women in the US) as far as attitude and beauty and personality. Yes, the women I have been dating here really are that beautiful, and they're not only from France but the other continents and former colony islands (outre mer).
One major cultural difference I have noticed is women. Dating in America versus dating overseas in a non-English speaking country has shown me a big difference in quality of single American women compared to that of foreign women. In the US, I dated foreign women and American women, but thought it was only bad luck. In my own mind, I should be a "good catch." My looks are a little better than average, I am physically very fit and run marathon distances and lift weights. My IQ is significantly higher than 145. My level of education is PhD in Neurobiology at a top research university. I care about living sustainably, I hate American style consumerism. I believe relationships should be 50:50 partnerships involving sharing of responsibilities and respect. I try to put the woman's needs before my own on every level. I don't have one night stands, but only sleep with somebody I care about. I'm willing to commit long term or even marry if we seem compatible enough. And I'm kind to animals, etc... I expect the same in return.
For years, I thought it was only my bad luck. To the American Woman, in her words, I am a "creeper who is trying to get his pervon." I'm still not sure what that means, but modern college graduates speak that way.
I, and most American men of my generation don' leer, stare, or check out American women. Instead, we avoid looking at them, never make eye contact, and even stare at the floor in their presence because of their open hostility.
I had even given up on dating and women in general. My last gf i realize was somebody I should have left the day I met her parents. She is from california, but we grew apart and the relationship didn't work out for many reasons.
I've found blogs complaining about the same thing - the American Woman ( American Woman Stay Away from Me. Now I think I understand the Lenny Kravitz song), so I know it's not just me. This photo sums up my experience so far.
My question is what has happened to the American Woman of my generation and younger? Did misandrystic feminism (the FemaNazi movement for everybody who doesn't know the word misandry) ruin them all? By "all," I mean MOST of them.
I know they don't need don't need a man for survival and support, but doesn't anybody care about love, romance, or having a long term relationship anymore? somebody to grown old with? Or is it suddenly cool to be a spinster and die alone surrounded by her 12 cats? By love, I mean the "love" of a life long romantic partner - somebody to experience and enhance life. By 'love' I do not mean the love for the parents. The kind of love where the woman talks to her mother every day. What's up with that anyway? It's cute when the girl is 12, but beyond that, it's childish, to put it mildly. And I don't mean the 'love' for her pet dog or her pet cat or her clique of catty girl friends (they now refer to themselves as "frienemies").
What's with the open hostility towards men (and are they equally hostile toward men who flash wealth)? I'm sure there are some good American women, but I haven't had any luck attracting even one. Now, I visibly cringe when I spot an American woman or hear the voice of one when I'm doing a social activity. When one starts a conversation, all I want is for her to leave, and I try to think of things to say that will politely let her know that we have nothing in common. Mentioning things like having lived off the grid or going on 500 mile backpacking trips or that I hate spectator sports is often a big enough hint for the more perceptive ones.
Until I came here, I had resigned myself to either dying alone or trying to find one on a South American or Southeast Asian matchmaking site. Leaving the US and learning a foreign language has changed my outlook on women. Modern American Women and Americanized Women are a cultural aberration.
NSFW:
The girl on the left corresponds to my overall experience with American women both in looks and personality. Most people would consider her to be quite homely, but American Women who look and act like her consider themselves to be "out of my league." My first experience with just one American Woman in High School left me wishing it were possible to convert to homosexuality and marry a man.
The one onthe right represents my experience with foreign women (not just in France, but while dating foreign women in the US) as far as attitude and beauty and personality. Yes, the women I have been dating here really are that beautiful, and they're not only from France but the other continents and former colony islands (outre mer).
One major cultural difference I have noticed is women. Dating in America versus dating overseas in a non-English speaking country has shown me a big difference in quality of single American women compared to that of foreign women. In the US, I dated foreign women and American women, but thought it was only bad luck. In my own mind, I should be a "good catch." My looks are a little better than average, I am physically very fit and run marathon distances and lift weights. My IQ is significantly higher than 145. My level of education is PhD in Neurobiology at a top research university. I care about living sustainably, I hate American style consumerism. I believe relationships should be 50:50 partnerships involving sharing of responsibilities and respect. I try to put the woman's needs before my own on every level. I don't have one night stands, but only sleep with somebody I care about. I'm willing to commit long term or even marry if we seem compatible enough. And I'm kind to animals, etc... I expect the same in return.
For years, I thought it was only my bad luck. To the American Woman, in her words, I am a "creeper who is trying to get his pervon." I'm still not sure what that means, but modern college graduates speak that way.
I, and most American men of my generation don' leer, stare, or check out American women. Instead, we avoid looking at them, never make eye contact, and even stare at the floor in their presence because of their open hostility.
I had even given up on dating and women in general. My last gf i realize was somebody I should have left the day I met her parents. She is from california, but we grew apart and the relationship didn't work out for many reasons.
I've found blogs complaining about the same thing - the American Woman ( American Woman Stay Away from Me. Now I think I understand the Lenny Kravitz song), so I know it's not just me. This photo sums up my experience so far.
My question is what has happened to the American Woman of my generation and younger? Did misandrystic feminism (the FemaNazi movement for everybody who doesn't know the word misandry) ruin them all? By "all," I mean MOST of them.
I know they don't need don't need a man for survival and support, but doesn't anybody care about love, romance, or having a long term relationship anymore? somebody to grown old with? Or is it suddenly cool to be a spinster and die alone surrounded by her 12 cats? By love, I mean the "love" of a life long romantic partner - somebody to experience and enhance life. By 'love' I do not mean the love for the parents. The kind of love where the woman talks to her mother every day. What's up with that anyway? It's cute when the girl is 12, but beyond that, it's childish, to put it mildly. And I don't mean the 'love' for her pet dog or her pet cat or her clique of catty girl friends (they now refer to themselves as "frienemies").
What's with the open hostility towards men (and are they equally hostile toward men who flash wealth)? I'm sure there are some good American women, but I haven't had any luck attracting even one. Now, I visibly cringe when I spot an American woman or hear the voice of one when I'm doing a social activity. When one starts a conversation, all I want is for her to leave, and I try to think of things to say that will politely let her know that we have nothing in common. Mentioning things like having lived off the grid or going on 500 mile backpacking trips or that I hate spectator sports is often a big enough hint for the more perceptive ones.
Until I came here, I had resigned myself to either dying alone or trying to find one on a South American or Southeast Asian matchmaking site. Leaving the US and learning a foreign language has changed my outlook on women. Modern American Women and Americanized Women are a cultural aberration.
I thought that I had been threw withdrawal of the fentanyl, the detox was 100s of spoons and endless cottons to suck on when the dope came to collect . Like the Charon, who needs payment to cross the river Styx, it will not be short changed. So I went to my first test of suboxone they send me home and then the insanity kicked in.landing me in the hospital with an abscess. I said I was off everything for a week and then they tried to give me the pain med shot before the gas.
Apparently they never saw anyone with such a tolerance. So I can't say I am not scared even though I have 20 ms contin 15 mgs , and 60 x 10 mgs oxymorphone hcl
Does anyone know the equivalent to 1 mg of fentanyl to either of the above.
At my end of shooting I was at 48 mg s a shot. Believe me or not.. don't say I am a liar . I feel no pride in being an addict, so just help if possible.
Apparently they never saw anyone with such a tolerance. So I can't say I am not scared even though I have 20 ms contin 15 mgs , and 60 x 10 mgs oxymorphone hcl
Does anyone know the equivalent to 1 mg of fentanyl to either of the above.
At my end of shooting I was at 48 mg s a shot. Believe me or not.. don't say I am a liar . I feel no pride in being an addict, so just help if possible.
Feeding pigeons at the fountain in Temple Square this afternoon. I had just bought a loaf of bread and sat on the edge of the fountain. That attracted the pigeons. This one waddled up to me and started pecking my finger until I fed it.
I like to sit by the fountain and read while I wait for the morphine to kick in. I don't want to be visibly high, so when I start to feel it, I go inside and work for a while.
Earlier today, I had tea with Pinar at an Arabic café in the Latin Quarter. She is learning English, so often, she speaks English to me, and I speak French to her, and we correct each others' mistakes.
Out of the blue, she invited me to go with her to her best friend's wedding in Algeria this summer some time after the Eid-ul-Fitr holiday, the end of Ramadan.
We would be spending a week together very close, travelling through a dangerous and remote region of the world and visiting and staying with people she knows. She would probaly expect me to be meeting her closest friends and family. We have never traveled together, but I think the trip would be fun.
What does it mean when a woman invites you to go to her best friend's wedding? It seems like a big deal when a Western woman asks you to go to a wedding, like she is claiming you, right? But when the wedding is in a foreign country where travel is difficult? And there are cultural differences - she's Muslim and it's in an Arabic country? Is Pinar trying to tell me something?
She liked my story about spending a year in the desert in the cabin and about hiking the Pacific Crestr Trail so maybe she only thinks i like going to out of the way places.
There used to be a blogger on here, Rachamim, who lived in the Middle East and was very familiar with the Maghreb (Northwest Africa) and its customs. He would know, but he's been AWOL for years.
It would be a fun and interesting trip, and I would probably never do it on my own. Partly because I don't speak Arabic. Arabic is her first language. Also, Algeria is one of those countries taht the STate Department issues travel warnings to stay away from. But she knows the country and where it is safe and which places to avoid.
I see her nearly every day at work. Outside of work, we often go out together. We know each other somewhat well, and I enjoy her company. But we only go out as friends, and we have never talked about going further than that. I have always assumed it wasn't possible.
She has an exotic Middle Eastern beauty. I'm very plain in comparison so I have assumed she would never feel anything for me. She smells good too. When we hug and kiss, it's hard to resist the temptation to inhale deeply and smell her hair. I think she would notice if I did that. She's smart too. She has a PhD in neurobiology. I like smart women. She's easy to get along with. I could fall for her.
I haven't told her about Ariadne specifically. She doesn't know I'm addicted to morphine either. If I'm going to Algeria, there's no way I'm taking any morphine with me on the plane.
So, I have no idea how to interpret her invitation. Dudes never invite other dudes as 'dates' to their best friend's weddings, unless they are gay, right? It's usually the girl friend who invites her boyfriend to her best friend's wedding. The only weddings I've been were those when girl friends I was very serious with took me as a date to the weddings of their family of girl friends. Or my own friends. Something like this would mean a lot more than driving an hour to the next city and then spending the day at the wedding and driving home at night.
There are big cultural differences between American Women and non-American women and how weddings are done. But wouldnt being invited as a date mean the same thing in both cultures?
I like to sit by the fountain and read while I wait for the morphine to kick in. I don't want to be visibly high, so when I start to feel it, I go inside and work for a while.
Earlier today, I had tea with Pinar at an Arabic café in the Latin Quarter. She is learning English, so often, she speaks English to me, and I speak French to her, and we correct each others' mistakes.
Out of the blue, she invited me to go with her to her best friend's wedding in Algeria this summer some time after the Eid-ul-Fitr holiday, the end of Ramadan.
We would be spending a week together very close, travelling through a dangerous and remote region of the world and visiting and staying with people she knows. She would probaly expect me to be meeting her closest friends and family. We have never traveled together, but I think the trip would be fun.
What does it mean when a woman invites you to go to her best friend's wedding? It seems like a big deal when a Western woman asks you to go to a wedding, like she is claiming you, right? But when the wedding is in a foreign country where travel is difficult? And there are cultural differences - she's Muslim and it's in an Arabic country? Is Pinar trying to tell me something?
She liked my story about spending a year in the desert in the cabin and about hiking the Pacific Crestr Trail so maybe she only thinks i like going to out of the way places.
There used to be a blogger on here, Rachamim, who lived in the Middle East and was very familiar with the Maghreb (Northwest Africa) and its customs. He would know, but he's been AWOL for years.
It would be a fun and interesting trip, and I would probably never do it on my own. Partly because I don't speak Arabic. Arabic is her first language. Also, Algeria is one of those countries taht the STate Department issues travel warnings to stay away from. But she knows the country and where it is safe and which places to avoid.
I see her nearly every day at work. Outside of work, we often go out together. We know each other somewhat well, and I enjoy her company. But we only go out as friends, and we have never talked about going further than that. I have always assumed it wasn't possible.
She has an exotic Middle Eastern beauty. I'm very plain in comparison so I have assumed she would never feel anything for me. She smells good too. When we hug and kiss, it's hard to resist the temptation to inhale deeply and smell her hair. I think she would notice if I did that. She's smart too. She has a PhD in neurobiology. I like smart women. She's easy to get along with. I could fall for her.
I haven't told her about Ariadne specifically. She doesn't know I'm addicted to morphine either. If I'm going to Algeria, there's no way I'm taking any morphine with me on the plane.
So, I have no idea how to interpret her invitation. Dudes never invite other dudes as 'dates' to their best friend's weddings, unless they are gay, right? It's usually the girl friend who invites her boyfriend to her best friend's wedding. The only weddings I've been were those when girl friends I was very serious with took me as a date to the weddings of their family of girl friends. Or my own friends. Something like this would mean a lot more than driving an hour to the next city and then spending the day at the wedding and driving home at night.
There are big cultural differences between American Women and non-American women and how weddings are done. But wouldnt being invited as a date mean the same thing in both cultures?
I didn't expect to be continuing this one because it began as a dream and dreams aren't real. Despite that, dreams seem to tap into something Jung called Synchronicity, "the view that the structure of reality includes a principle of acausal connection which manifests itself most conspicuously in the form of meaningful coincidences." What happened yesterday in waking life is a coincidence that goes with the dream I just wrote about.
Le Dandy Club is a club in the heart of Pigalle, meters from the famous Moulin Rouge. Formerly, it was an establishment once frequented by the "dandys" of the 18th century. It's served as a brothel, salon, cabaret, cafe, and bar, and is currently furnished with canapé style sofas, antique pianos, victorian furniture, beds in the little rooms where the prostitutes lived.
Ariadne and I were out yesterday evening for drinks and dinner. We met at teh Moulin Rouge and went in there and to a few other places bar hopping. She had to get up early for work today so she went home. I have the day off, so I went ot unlock my bicycle, but I noticed an interesting looking bar next to where I had locked my bike.
It was "le Dandy Club." I peeked in and wandered around inside. There were lots of people drinking, talking, sitting on the sofas and beds. Standing next to an old record player was a tall blond woman. There aren't many natural blondes in Paris, and most women here are shorter than me.
She turned and looked directly at me and said "bonsoir" (hello). Her face had delicate features, blue eyes, and high cheek bones and a fine nose like a German or Scandanavian. She's strikingly beautiful and could be a model. She looked exactly like the woman from the dream I wrote about yesterday. She is the woman from the dream.
She said hello again, are you OK? I was just remembering how she looked naked on the beach in the afternoon sun. I must have looked very surprised or confused, because I was very surprised to recognise someone from a dream and who I have never seen in waking life.
We talked for a while. Her name is Ingrid. She's German but has lived here for 10 years and works for an agency that works with children in famine countries.
Out of the blue, she invited me to a party on a yacht next week and gave me her contact information. I didn't tell her about Ariadne. Ordinarilly, since I'm already seeing someone, I would have thrown away her card as soon as she was out of sight. But I don't meet people I know only from dreams very often. And the kind of dream she was in was very strange and erotic. I kept her card, and hid it where Ariadne won't find it.
Le Dandy Club is a club in the heart of Pigalle, meters from the famous Moulin Rouge. Formerly, it was an establishment once frequented by the "dandys" of the 18th century. It's served as a brothel, salon, cabaret, cafe, and bar, and is currently furnished with canapé style sofas, antique pianos, victorian furniture, beds in the little rooms where the prostitutes lived.
Ariadne and I were out yesterday evening for drinks and dinner. We met at teh Moulin Rouge and went in there and to a few other places bar hopping. She had to get up early for work today so she went home. I have the day off, so I went ot unlock my bicycle, but I noticed an interesting looking bar next to where I had locked my bike.
It was "le Dandy Club." I peeked in and wandered around inside. There were lots of people drinking, talking, sitting on the sofas and beds. Standing next to an old record player was a tall blond woman. There aren't many natural blondes in Paris, and most women here are shorter than me.
She turned and looked directly at me and said "bonsoir" (hello). Her face had delicate features, blue eyes, and high cheek bones and a fine nose like a German or Scandanavian. She's strikingly beautiful and could be a model. She looked exactly like the woman from the dream I wrote about yesterday. She is the woman from the dream.
She said hello again, are you OK? I was just remembering how she looked naked on the beach in the afternoon sun. I must have looked very surprised or confused, because I was very surprised to recognise someone from a dream and who I have never seen in waking life.
We talked for a while. Her name is Ingrid. She's German but has lived here for 10 years and works for an agency that works with children in famine countries.
Out of the blue, she invited me to a party on a yacht next week and gave me her contact information. I didn't tell her about Ariadne. Ordinarilly, since I'm already seeing someone, I would have thrown away her card as soon as she was out of sight. But I don't meet people I know only from dreams very often. And the kind of dream she was in was very strange and erotic. I kept her card, and hid it where Ariadne won't find it.
Childhood is meant to be a place of trust and innocence but sadly for many of us this is not the case. I was only eight years old when I discovered the harshness of the real world. I was subjected to countless diets by my mother from an early age. She would prod my skinny rib cage and find layers of imaginary fat to condemn. Looking back at childhood pictures and my boney little frame it was nothing other than cruelty and neglect. I was starved until I reached a weight that was far too low for my height and collapsed as a result. Even this did not deter my mother and after months of ill treatment I caught pneumonia and she had to ease up on me. Whenever I gained weight she would ration my food carefully again. I would try to sneak food out of the fridge but whenever she noticed it was missing I was punished by my rations being cut even more. My mother insisted I was fat and ugly and I had ruined her life by being born. One day I sat staring at my dog Blues bowl of dog food and biscuits and gave in to temptation. I scooped out a small handful. It made me gag and retch so much that my Grandmother heard and was distraught when she discovered what I was doing. She immediately stuck her fingers down my throat and made me vomit. I sobbed and coughed as she held me and I cried "Don't tell anyone Mum will kill me if she finds out". Nan made me promise not to do it again but sadly I could not keep that promise. I felt guilty about taking the food from Blue at first. Then one day I was playing a game of catch on the floor with Blue. I was pretending to be a dog wagging its tail and barking at him. He did it back but then suddenly unexpectedly he went over to his bowl picked up a biscuit and threw it up in the air so that it landed at my feet. I picked it up an nibbled it pretending to eat it. Then he wagged his tail and trotted over to his bowl, picked a biscuit and dropped it right infront of me. Blue went to his bowl again, picked up another biscuit and noisily crunched on it watching me as I chewed on mine.
Years later I confronted my Mother about the terrible deprivation she had inflicted on me. She insisted it had been for my own good and that I was and still am fat and disgusting. I find it hard to forgive her all these years later. My Grandmother did her best to protect me but she too was terrified of my Mum. I think I probably would have been dead if it wasn't for her.
Years later I confronted my Mother about the terrible deprivation she had inflicted on me. She insisted it had been for my own good and that I was and still am fat and disgusting. I find it hard to forgive her all these years later. My Grandmother did her best to protect me but she too was terrified of my Mum. I think I probably would have been dead if it wasn't for her.
Its a Wednesday which would probably suck if I had a job. But nope I have no job, live with my father still, and collect money for disability from when I was diagnosed with schizophrenia from having stem abuse induced psychotic episodes. They still think im schizophrenic which is fine with me because there almost done taking me off my haldol then I can trip again. I threw away all my 1p-lsd because I took 4 hits and the haldol killed the trip and made my heart rate high as if I were jogging for 8 whole hours. I told my dad bout it, he suggested I throw it away if it makes me feel bad, so I did not considering i could have held on to it until im off the haldol injections. Oh well no use crying over spilled milk. Well im going to smoke some SHIT and blog again another day
This was only a dream. Don't read it if you don't like reading about dreams, especially when they're mildly pornographic or borderline paranoid.
This was only a dream, but a very unusual one. It had a 'fourth dimension,' a special kind of salience. It was striking and stood out as though it had a deeper meaning.
First I became aware of soothing, ethereally warm music coming from all around. There was a woman singing softly. It vaguely reminded me of the Cocteau twins. The scene was very tender and romantic, like something out of a painting. I was looking at a quiet beach where tall grass blew gently in an ocean breeze. In the dunes next to a tidal pool and alf hidden in the tall grass, a beautiful woman was on her back on a blanket on the sand. She had reddish blond hair. I remember her face very clearly. Her face was striking with sharp, fine features and high cheekbones like a German or Scandinavian. She was completely naked, her body slender and toned. Her long legs were spread. A man with a beard was lying/kneeling at her feet, caressing her and kissing her crotch and vagina. My viewpoint was very close to them.
I was mentally awake, and in the dream, while dreaming, I wondered why a dream would open like that. I never dream of sex. Also, it wasn't even like a dream. It was like watching a movie. I wasn't even there, but I was viewing the scene like watching a screen except I could hear, feel the wind, feel the warmth of the sun, and smell the ocean air.
He touched her and licked her with what seemed like passion combined with deep love for her. It was like he had given her his heart. He was happy to be able to do anything that made her happy. She responded to this with movements and tender caresses, stroking his hair, soft words,etc, that suggested she felt the same toward him. The scene alternated between him licking her vagina and him on her kissing her face and mouth. I couldn't see if he was having sex with her, but her moans suggested he was.
I didn't feel any sexual attraction for them. As with spectator sports, why sit around watching somebody else have all the fun? So, I don't care for porn. I was not interested in joining them because there was a dude already there.
I felt completely detached and began to wonder why I was dreaming this. Because of a couple of unhappy experiences with it in college, I was thinking oral sex is usually gross, and the man in the dream must have loved her deeply and wanted to do soemthing because she really wanted it. My impression during the dream is that she felt the same way about him and would do anything to please him as well.
In this blog, I've tried to document that some of my dreams have a "clairvoyant" or "prophetic" element, and that I can tell which dreams are special as soon as I wake up. The strange thing about it is that the whole time, I felt like there was more to it. I felt like it represented something. Or possibly that I was looking in on somebody else's private dream or thoughts or sexual fantasy like it was somehow telepathic. If so, it must have been a woman. It seemed very feminine and from a woman's perspective. I can't imagine men would have fantasies like that.
I kept wondering who they were. I don't know anybody who looks like her. I'm going out with Ariadne, and she wasn't Ariadne. She wasn't any of the other women I've been seeing recently either. The dude, I have no idea. I never saw his face. His clothes, a white linen shirt and pants looked exactly what I wear when I go to the beach. Or maybe it was prophetic...
NSFW:
This was only a dream, but a very unusual one. It had a 'fourth dimension,' a special kind of salience. It was striking and stood out as though it had a deeper meaning.
First I became aware of soothing, ethereally warm music coming from all around. There was a woman singing softly. It vaguely reminded me of the Cocteau twins. The scene was very tender and romantic, like something out of a painting. I was looking at a quiet beach where tall grass blew gently in an ocean breeze. In the dunes next to a tidal pool and alf hidden in the tall grass, a beautiful woman was on her back on a blanket on the sand. She had reddish blond hair. I remember her face very clearly. Her face was striking with sharp, fine features and high cheekbones like a German or Scandinavian. She was completely naked, her body slender and toned. Her long legs were spread. A man with a beard was lying/kneeling at her feet, caressing her and kissing her crotch and vagina. My viewpoint was very close to them.
I was mentally awake, and in the dream, while dreaming, I wondered why a dream would open like that. I never dream of sex. Also, it wasn't even like a dream. It was like watching a movie. I wasn't even there, but I was viewing the scene like watching a screen except I could hear, feel the wind, feel the warmth of the sun, and smell the ocean air.
He touched her and licked her with what seemed like passion combined with deep love for her. It was like he had given her his heart. He was happy to be able to do anything that made her happy. She responded to this with movements and tender caresses, stroking his hair, soft words,etc, that suggested she felt the same toward him. The scene alternated between him licking her vagina and him on her kissing her face and mouth. I couldn't see if he was having sex with her, but her moans suggested he was.
I didn't feel any sexual attraction for them. As with spectator sports, why sit around watching somebody else have all the fun? So, I don't care for porn. I was not interested in joining them because there was a dude already there.
I felt completely detached and began to wonder why I was dreaming this. Because of a couple of unhappy experiences with it in college, I was thinking oral sex is usually gross, and the man in the dream must have loved her deeply and wanted to do soemthing because she really wanted it. My impression during the dream is that she felt the same way about him and would do anything to please him as well.
In this blog, I've tried to document that some of my dreams have a "clairvoyant" or "prophetic" element, and that I can tell which dreams are special as soon as I wake up. The strange thing about it is that the whole time, I felt like there was more to it. I felt like it represented something. Or possibly that I was looking in on somebody else's private dream or thoughts or sexual fantasy like it was somehow telepathic. If so, it must have been a woman. It seemed very feminine and from a woman's perspective. I can't imagine men would have fantasies like that.
I kept wondering who they were. I don't know anybody who looks like her. I'm going out with Ariadne, and she wasn't Ariadne. She wasn't any of the other women I've been seeing recently either. The dude, I have no idea. I never saw his face. His clothes, a white linen shirt and pants looked exactly what I wear when I go to the beach. Or maybe it was prophetic...
It happened. We got a cabin with a couple, which are our friends, and we were all in the hot tub and got out to use the bathroom and I walk out and he is in our bedroom standing there and grabs me...omg. I was just shocked and sooo fucking hot for him. I asked him probably 5 times since he threw me on the bed if this was really ok with our spouses before he fucked me. Mmmhmmm it was so good and he is so good...very very very great lay! He is fun and I could fuck him for hours, but it started just as quickly as it ended... 
Then the next night, Patrick ran upstairs with me to their room, and I had no idea what he wanted to do and we fucked again, full swap.
God damn he is so yummy. I want to borrow him soo bad! Why can't that be ok?
Then the next night, Patrick ran upstairs with me to their room, and I had no idea what he wanted to do and we fucked again, full swap. God damn he is so yummy. I want to borrow him soo bad! Why can't that be ok?
This is what I've been told and I could never figure out what the fuck it meant.
After I stopped thinking about it I finally understood. Feelings are spawned from thoughts. My thoughts are usually flawed and based on make believe scenarios. These fantasies are typically based on my negative perception of self. The negative thoughts breed negative feelings. Since the exact nature of my thoughts are based on fantasy, the feelings that follow are as well.
If its fantasy, it's not real. If its not real, it's not true. If its not true, it's not honest.
I need to stop lying to myself with my thoughts so that I can feel honestly.
After I stopped thinking about it I finally understood. Feelings are spawned from thoughts. My thoughts are usually flawed and based on make believe scenarios. These fantasies are typically based on my negative perception of self. The negative thoughts breed negative feelings. Since the exact nature of my thoughts are based on fantasy, the feelings that follow are as well.
If its fantasy, it's not real. If its not real, it's not true. If its not true, it's not honest.
I need to stop lying to myself with my thoughts so that I can feel honestly.
The weather has been excellent this week. It's finally warm enough and not-yet-so-humid that I'm able to leave the windows open all day and night. Earlier, I did some major spring cleaning and felt like shit about how much junk gradually accumulated in my apartment over winter. I never let it get bad enough to be categorized as trap-house-chic but leaving dishes in the sink overnight and leaving boxes on the floor because I'm too lazy to move them is just bad. Winter has that affect on me. I guess the pros call that Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I won't because I developed an acute allergy to mental bullshit after having been stupid/desperate enough to allow myself to be examined by a psychiatrist or two who were only too quick to pigeonhole me into the most convenient DSM category and push pills on me. That's rich, huh? You go to a mental doc hoping for some understanding only to find out they're exactly the same mentality as the rest of this fucked-up, on-demand society. No fucking patience for anything. That was years ago. I haven't subjected myself to a shrink since, and have been avoiding most medical professionals except for my dentist who I respect greatly for his work ethic, even though he gives off the vibe of someone who cheats on his wife with one of the pretty dental assistants. I noticed they stopped asking me if I've been flossing ever since I have been flossing daily. I guess it shows. Ah, but I'm rambling now.
So here I found myself today, taking a pensive walk around town. I am thankfully in no need of shrinks, after many years of journeying (mostly inwards, but a bit of outwards journeying too), I know fully who I am, who I want to be and [for the most part] what I want to get from life. It's still fun to have time to think, though. So I went for a walk and I thought, and in thinking I sudden came to the realization that I have no respect for any of the friends I have left. Thinking about it, I can't imagine they ever had respect for me. I certainly didn't respect myself, which is a major part of the reason I struggled so hard to push through setbacks in the past.
What to do now? I can't very well call them my friends if I don't respect them. Well, that's alright. I'm pretty good at alienating people. I didn't spend years in corporate for nothing, now I can be as ruthless as the best of 'em. I can give you some heartwarming bullshit farewell food-for-thought complete with a smile and handshake while steering you out the door with the other hand. Most people don't even realize what happened until they're halfway across the parking lot. What a dichotomy, to abhor a society that rewards that type of behaviour, and also revel in it because it gives me the only chance I get to really fuck with the people who support the status quo by consigning themselves to wage slavery to pay debts they took on to buy shit they don't need to impress people they don't care about, blah blah blah.
There was a panhandler walking through rush hour traffic on my way home. I was in my glorious shitbox, someone next to me was in a gaudy brand-new Benz SUV. Nine times out of ten when I look over, it's some bimbo trophy wife commanding these tank-envy monstrosities. I have too much respect for smart, accomplished women to assume they would ever squander their own cash on such a thing, so trophy wife is the conclusion I reach. Either way, it was the typical $80-120k extravagance ($65k buys you the bare chassis) that people with “more money than brains” love. I guess some people feel entitled to a $100k joyride with the heated leather seat that some nerd like me was suckered into programming to give the driver a shiatsu ass massage so their bum doesn't numb along the otherwise bum-numbingly long commute to work.
Of course, I don't even have a buck to give the guy (I rarely use cash), and if he came close enough I was ready to give him the ol' “look at my car, do I look like I even have a fuck to give?” spiel. No surprise, he loitered for a good minute next to the Benz holding out his cardboard sign. Guess who doesn't give a fuck? Not me, not the Benz bimbo, and even the panhandler looked like he really couldn't care less. We're all becoming victims of apathy. I read a great quote the other day:
- Alexander Fraser Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee
I guess that guy knew what was up. We're past our best-before date and still haven't figured it out.
So here I found myself today, taking a pensive walk around town. I am thankfully in no need of shrinks, after many years of journeying (mostly inwards, but a bit of outwards journeying too), I know fully who I am, who I want to be and [for the most part] what I want to get from life. It's still fun to have time to think, though. So I went for a walk and I thought, and in thinking I sudden came to the realization that I have no respect for any of the friends I have left. Thinking about it, I can't imagine they ever had respect for me. I certainly didn't respect myself, which is a major part of the reason I struggled so hard to push through setbacks in the past.
What to do now? I can't very well call them my friends if I don't respect them. Well, that's alright. I'm pretty good at alienating people. I didn't spend years in corporate for nothing, now I can be as ruthless as the best of 'em. I can give you some heartwarming bullshit farewell food-for-thought complete with a smile and handshake while steering you out the door with the other hand. Most people don't even realize what happened until they're halfway across the parking lot. What a dichotomy, to abhor a society that rewards that type of behaviour, and also revel in it because it gives me the only chance I get to really fuck with the people who support the status quo by consigning themselves to wage slavery to pay debts they took on to buy shit they don't need to impress people they don't care about, blah blah blah.
There was a panhandler walking through rush hour traffic on my way home. I was in my glorious shitbox, someone next to me was in a gaudy brand-new Benz SUV. Nine times out of ten when I look over, it's some bimbo trophy wife commanding these tank-envy monstrosities. I have too much respect for smart, accomplished women to assume they would ever squander their own cash on such a thing, so trophy wife is the conclusion I reach. Either way, it was the typical $80-120k extravagance ($65k buys you the bare chassis) that people with “more money than brains” love. I guess some people feel entitled to a $100k joyride with the heated leather seat that some nerd like me was suckered into programming to give the driver a shiatsu ass massage so their bum doesn't numb along the otherwise bum-numbingly long commute to work.
Of course, I don't even have a buck to give the guy (I rarely use cash), and if he came close enough I was ready to give him the ol' “look at my car, do I look like I even have a fuck to give?” spiel. No surprise, he loitered for a good minute next to the Benz holding out his cardboard sign. Guess who doesn't give a fuck? Not me, not the Benz bimbo, and even the panhandler looked like he really couldn't care less. We're all becoming victims of apathy. I read a great quote the other day:
The average age of the world's greatest civilisations from the beginning of history has been about 200 years. During those 200 years, these nations always progressed through the following sequence: From bondage to spiritual faith; From spiritual faith to great courage; From courage to liberty; From liberty to abundance; From abundance to selfishness; From selfishness to complacency; From complacency to apathy; From apathy to dependence; From dependence back into bondage.
- Alexander Fraser Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee
I guess that guy knew what was up. We're past our best-before date and still haven't figured it out.
I finally remembered what my Facebook password is after forgetting it for, uh... years. I know I'm always going on about how I hate Facebook but yeah, I do actually have a profile. I've never actually posted anything to it and make it a point to remind anyone about to snap a photo of me that I will tear their spleen out through their smiling face if they dare tag me.
Nevertheless, I signed in, and felt confused right away at the new UI which seems to change as often as the seasons do. One thing that's obvious though is the activity log or wall or whatever the fuck they call it when someone posts some shit and it shows up in my feed. Seems like people I knew a decade ago are getting married. Great. We haven't spoken in ages; probably never will again.
I feel disgusted that I'm too curious about their lives to just oust these people from my Friends list. I'm not sure what that voice in my head is expecting, I mean these people are part of my past, but now they are fresh in my present mind as they are now not as I knew them. It made me think of the people I knew as kids, two decades ago; before Facebook and even before MySpace or Geocities. Part of me wonders how my closest friends in grade school have turned out, but a bigger part of me resists the urge to try and find them on Facebook because it would ruin the romance of the memories of them I harbour.
There's a chance friendships may be rekindled, sure, but there's a greater risk that my curiosity about the people I once cared about will be fulfilled and memories of old will be overwritten by the new reality. It's funny how time erodes our youthful innocence and our efforts to rebel against it and push the boundaries of our individuality recreate us every day as someone slightly different than the person we were yesterday. I'm sure that girl I watched disappear from the rear window of my dad's car when we moved away from the old neighbourhood has turned into a wonderful young woman, but to me the memory of that little girl standing in the street is more precious and important to the person I've become than the realities of her current existence could ever be.
So, fuck Facebook. I hope picture postcards will come back into vogue, so I can just mail people I care about an indelible memory before I set off on some new path in life and lose touch with them forever.
From wherever, with all my love, XoXo
Nevertheless, I signed in, and felt confused right away at the new UI which seems to change as often as the seasons do. One thing that's obvious though is the activity log or wall or whatever the fuck they call it when someone posts some shit and it shows up in my feed. Seems like people I knew a decade ago are getting married. Great. We haven't spoken in ages; probably never will again.
I feel disgusted that I'm too curious about their lives to just oust these people from my Friends list. I'm not sure what that voice in my head is expecting, I mean these people are part of my past, but now they are fresh in my present mind as they are now not as I knew them. It made me think of the people I knew as kids, two decades ago; before Facebook and even before MySpace or Geocities. Part of me wonders how my closest friends in grade school have turned out, but a bigger part of me resists the urge to try and find them on Facebook because it would ruin the romance of the memories of them I harbour.
There's a chance friendships may be rekindled, sure, but there's a greater risk that my curiosity about the people I once cared about will be fulfilled and memories of old will be overwritten by the new reality. It's funny how time erodes our youthful innocence and our efforts to rebel against it and push the boundaries of our individuality recreate us every day as someone slightly different than the person we were yesterday. I'm sure that girl I watched disappear from the rear window of my dad's car when we moved away from the old neighbourhood has turned into a wonderful young woman, but to me the memory of that little girl standing in the street is more precious and important to the person I've become than the realities of her current existence could ever be.
So, fuck Facebook. I hope picture postcards will come back into vogue, so I can just mail people I care about an indelible memory before I set off on some new path in life and lose touch with them forever.
From wherever, with all my love, XoXo
People say I glamorize it but they don’t know how it has made me feel; even if they do, it wouldn’t change a thing, because these filthy emotions are what millions of other people have felt.
Heroin is just another obsessed abuser in disguise; it comforts you when your guard is down and then causes you both physical and emotional torment when you attempt to leave. Kids in America grow up hearing about junkies and their sociopathic crime-filled life, but do any of them know until it’s too late that junkies were once vulnerable children too, coaxed in by black’s promise to free them from pain?
I am not defending my choices or those of my fellow addicts; morally, we went bankrupt, and that is for certain.
We have failed society by becoming the miscreants, but society also failed us.
People are uncomfortable with heroin. It disgusts them. They fear that one day their sons and daughters may become the junkies of tomorrow, but they often push the thought aside. “That day will never come. My loved one’s not a waster like those troubled stars I saw on TV, like those people I saw in the alley, like those shadow-eyed kids coming out of the detox center.”
When one son or daughter does become just that, heroin twists the family’s world around. Usually, the child either recovers (slim chance), the child becomes part of the prison system, or the child is found dead. Whichever way you swing it, heroin is horrific in its onslaught against the body and soul.
Does this mean that the addict is no longer a person? No. Does this make them an idiot? No; they simply made a very idiotic choice. As the forever-quoted Bible says in John 8:7, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” You may claim that any sins you ever committed could not equate to trying heroin. Maybe one night you were a little buzzed and took your car out for a ride; perhaps one lovely morning at 14 you swiped your mother’s cigarette and have been buying packs ever since; just maybe, you have lied in your life, and you have sinned; you hungered for the body of another and waited by the phone for a lover like an addict in withdrawal.
Heroin addiction is complicated. No one wants it around. But it will never go away if we dismiss it as a drug for the doomed.
Heroin is just another obsessed abuser in disguise; it comforts you when your guard is down and then causes you both physical and emotional torment when you attempt to leave. Kids in America grow up hearing about junkies and their sociopathic crime-filled life, but do any of them know until it’s too late that junkies were once vulnerable children too, coaxed in by black’s promise to free them from pain?
I am not defending my choices or those of my fellow addicts; morally, we went bankrupt, and that is for certain.
We have failed society by becoming the miscreants, but society also failed us.
People are uncomfortable with heroin. It disgusts them. They fear that one day their sons and daughters may become the junkies of tomorrow, but they often push the thought aside. “That day will never come. My loved one’s not a waster like those troubled stars I saw on TV, like those people I saw in the alley, like those shadow-eyed kids coming out of the detox center.”
When one son or daughter does become just that, heroin twists the family’s world around. Usually, the child either recovers (slim chance), the child becomes part of the prison system, or the child is found dead. Whichever way you swing it, heroin is horrific in its onslaught against the body and soul.
Does this mean that the addict is no longer a person? No. Does this make them an idiot? No; they simply made a very idiotic choice. As the forever-quoted Bible says in John 8:7, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” You may claim that any sins you ever committed could not equate to trying heroin. Maybe one night you were a little buzzed and took your car out for a ride; perhaps one lovely morning at 14 you swiped your mother’s cigarette and have been buying packs ever since; just maybe, you have lied in your life, and you have sinned; you hungered for the body of another and waited by the phone for a lover like an addict in withdrawal.
Heroin addiction is complicated. No one wants it around. But it will never go away if we dismiss it as a drug for the doomed.
What have we done? Why have we allowed society to degrade in such a manner? Kids are abusing pharmaceuticals, heroin & meth. It's crazy depressing watching the generation I live in today slave to painkillers & stimulant abuse. "Oh Idk what they've been though", fuck the fuck off. Drugs are not an escape for your problems. Nobody cares what you been through. How you deal with your troubles determines your real strength. If you choose to use drugs to deal with your "anxiety problems, mood problems, tragedies, etc", how the hell do you expect to handle them from a realistic perspective? I'm writing this blog at the bottom of a mood swing right now, but I don't turn to puny pills to help me get through my depressive nature. I fucking endure. It's upsetting to see more & more people falling victim to their own emotions. They don't know how to overcome because they have been defeated by what they believe is much stronger than them.
You are weak, get the fuck up. Your life isn't harder than anyone elses. You believe to have the short end of the stick because it's so easy to feel sorry for yourself. We all have our shit to deal with, so don't let your misfortune affect others by your negative attitude.
What have I done? Why have I allowed myself to become so cold? So spiteful? I have been trying & trying to embrace my emotions. I haven't been able to rise above my shadow self. It haunts me everywhere I go, taunting me at every corner and confusing my path. It disguises itself as my desires but are they even my desires? What are they? What drives me to do what I am not proud of even doing? Is that even me? Am I still back where I started in my journey to search for who I am? If not, what is my progress? I've learned more and more about HR and have been taking calculated risks as life goes by but has the worst yet to come? Am I over the mountain and running to the flat plain? Or am I still trapped in a dark, mysterious hurdle? I've helped myself identify with my idea of happiness and purpose but implementing my own ideas are becoming increasingly difficult. Should I look for another outlet? The uncertainty can be a cause for my depression. I seem not not even know where I am. How do I identify with my true self? I am at a loss for words.
I can't seem to practise what I preach. I can't seem to defer from my old ways. My brain seems to exist as a bundle of ideas that are constantly recycling and changing my thought processes. I am becoming someone new almost every year. Is this good or bad? I have no one to talk to as no-one can fathom the complexity of my brain. At least, no-one I've already met. I guess it's true that only you can help yourself in this world and no-one else can. This is a lonely feeling and yet comforting at the same time. I seem to enjoy the heavy energy attached to my brain and it keeps me calm, or is it that there diazepam? My down attitude is the easiest for me to dwell in but what is so comforting about it? Why is it that the negatives in life seem to be the most significant to us humans? We claim to be all about happiness and positivity but how many of us let this show on our auras? The people that do are easily identifiable as "off the wall" or are easily envied.
This society claims to want to help each-other but no-one wishes to see anyone on top of themselves. This world has become such a dark place and finding light in a cave is usually self made. It has become clear to me that only the mindset that seeks to be happy will be happy and the other that want to be happy will forever be lost as it is always easy to want something but to go out and find it is what defines us and creates our character.
You are weak, get the fuck up. Your life isn't harder than anyone elses. You believe to have the short end of the stick because it's so easy to feel sorry for yourself. We all have our shit to deal with, so don't let your misfortune affect others by your negative attitude.
What have I done? Why have I allowed myself to become so cold? So spiteful? I have been trying & trying to embrace my emotions. I haven't been able to rise above my shadow self. It haunts me everywhere I go, taunting me at every corner and confusing my path. It disguises itself as my desires but are they even my desires? What are they? What drives me to do what I am not proud of even doing? Is that even me? Am I still back where I started in my journey to search for who I am? If not, what is my progress? I've learned more and more about HR and have been taking calculated risks as life goes by but has the worst yet to come? Am I over the mountain and running to the flat plain? Or am I still trapped in a dark, mysterious hurdle? I've helped myself identify with my idea of happiness and purpose but implementing my own ideas are becoming increasingly difficult. Should I look for another outlet? The uncertainty can be a cause for my depression. I seem not not even know where I am. How do I identify with my true self? I am at a loss for words.
I can't seem to practise what I preach. I can't seem to defer from my old ways. My brain seems to exist as a bundle of ideas that are constantly recycling and changing my thought processes. I am becoming someone new almost every year. Is this good or bad? I have no one to talk to as no-one can fathom the complexity of my brain. At least, no-one I've already met. I guess it's true that only you can help yourself in this world and no-one else can. This is a lonely feeling and yet comforting at the same time. I seem to enjoy the heavy energy attached to my brain and it keeps me calm, or is it that there diazepam? My down attitude is the easiest for me to dwell in but what is so comforting about it? Why is it that the negatives in life seem to be the most significant to us humans? We claim to be all about happiness and positivity but how many of us let this show on our auras? The people that do are easily identifiable as "off the wall" or are easily envied.
This society claims to want to help each-other but no-one wishes to see anyone on top of themselves. This world has become such a dark place and finding light in a cave is usually self made. It has become clear to me that only the mindset that seeks to be happy will be happy and the other that want to be happy will forever be lost as it is always easy to want something but to go out and find it is what defines us and creates our character.
Tonight's just one of those nights.
It's Cinco de Mayo. Everyone on Tumblr is denigrating the very celebration of this holiday, because we white people couldn't understand it.
I skip past these complaints to the photos of needles and oreo cakes, dope and the sunrise.
I'm only 2 weeks single after 4 years of on-and-off bullshit with my pair of 2-year boyfriends. I'm starting to think my boyfriends' expiration dates will always be a solid 2 years. It's everyone's fault.
Honestly, I'm just wondering what the fuck's wrong with me, because after 2 years of possibly the worst relationship, during which I was threatened with death half the time, I'm already looking at other men and reverting to my teenage years of giggling at the cute ones.
I'm only 20, so maybe I can cut myself a bit of slack.
But there are the cute wannabe dealers:
the thugs with too many tattoos and a tendency towards retail theft.
Why do I always go for them?
Why do I always smoke with them?
I fucking hate them
But they're me, a part of me.
The part that wants to love something so glamorous and so false.
These men are just as dangerous as the drugs.
They're so kind
I'm using them
And they're fucking
Using
Me
I'm drunk. Can't you tell?
I'm high on heroin, can't you tell?
I have so much pain inside me
my blood will pour out
And the texture will always be BLACK TAR
Because I can't function without the absence of pain.
And without knowing that I belong.
It hurts
But I'm just a girl.
Well I have a job as a server. But I'm spending 60-80 dollars worth of heroin a day. So I am working to support my habit. I'm going to try and switch over to suboxone stommorow afternoon. I have Xanax and weed to help do it. I think I can for at least enough time to pay my debt off to the bank for 300 dollars. Then I'll be back to even.
I've been on a hell of a 3 month binge. My arms look like shit and I'm having a hell of a time registering shots. And even when I do I rears.y get very high so I'm basically on heroin maintenance. So I'm going to try and cut way back on the smack.
I've been on a hell of a 3 month binge. My arms look like shit and I'm having a hell of a time registering shots. And even when I do I rears.y get very high so I'm basically on heroin maintenance. So I'm going to try and cut way back on the smack.
Increasingly, I've encountered women mischaracterizing masculinity.
One of the more common arguments is the idea that masculinity promotes the repression of emotions. This, of course, is incorrect. Masculinity merely suggests that a man master his emotions; control his emotions, so that he may not be ruled by them. Thus, he never collapses in tears or explodes with rage. At all times, a man must practice self-control, presenting a strong, but calm and kind outward appearance. I want there to be room for masculinity in the modern world, but increasingly, I see more and more women (feminists) expressing abject hatred of men, and even worse, other men agreeing with them.
I felt particularly saddened when I saw one of those placards held up for one of those 'I Need Feminism Because' photographs, and it said something like "I need feminism because, as a straight, white male, my opinions are less important than women, minorities and people of color, and I need to know that."
"Why would you think that way?" I wondered. Self-respect is also an important aspect of masculinity. Many men seem to end up working like dogs to provide for a family that considers them worthless and obsolete. We're disposable and expendable, really.
These sorts of thoughts began when I saw a brilliant scientist, Dr. Matt Taylor, reduced to tears on television because he'd worn a T-shirt that a female friend had fashioned for him. It had scantily-clad cartoon women on it, and that led to the internet exploding with faux-outrage. He was basically oppressing all women by wearing such a shirt, ignoring the fact that it was made specifically to congratulate him on landing a mechanical probe on a speeding comet. After witnessing his apology, I immediately wanted to vomit.
"How could anyone treat such a brilliant man this way?" I asked myself, indignation bubbling up.
I'll go into more detail with the next post. I haven't planned it out, but there are so many articles, videos and so-on that I'd like to at least mention, because it seems like misandry (a general hatred and mistrust of men) is becoming more and more common. Feminist propaganda has invaded many of the spaces I enjoy spending time online.
One of the more common arguments is the idea that masculinity promotes the repression of emotions. This, of course, is incorrect. Masculinity merely suggests that a man master his emotions; control his emotions, so that he may not be ruled by them. Thus, he never collapses in tears or explodes with rage. At all times, a man must practice self-control, presenting a strong, but calm and kind outward appearance. I want there to be room for masculinity in the modern world, but increasingly, I see more and more women (feminists) expressing abject hatred of men, and even worse, other men agreeing with them.
I felt particularly saddened when I saw one of those placards held up for one of those 'I Need Feminism Because' photographs, and it said something like "I need feminism because, as a straight, white male, my opinions are less important than women, minorities and people of color, and I need to know that."
"Why would you think that way?" I wondered. Self-respect is also an important aspect of masculinity. Many men seem to end up working like dogs to provide for a family that considers them worthless and obsolete. We're disposable and expendable, really.
These sorts of thoughts began when I saw a brilliant scientist, Dr. Matt Taylor, reduced to tears on television because he'd worn a T-shirt that a female friend had fashioned for him. It had scantily-clad cartoon women on it, and that led to the internet exploding with faux-outrage. He was basically oppressing all women by wearing such a shirt, ignoring the fact that it was made specifically to congratulate him on landing a mechanical probe on a speeding comet. After witnessing his apology, I immediately wanted to vomit.
"How could anyone treat such a brilliant man this way?" I asked myself, indignation bubbling up.
I'll go into more detail with the next post. I haven't planned it out, but there are so many articles, videos and so-on that I'd like to at least mention, because it seems like misandry (a general hatred and mistrust of men) is becoming more and more common. Feminist propaganda has invaded many of the spaces I enjoy spending time online.
In hopes of keeping my sanity while waiting to see what would happen with Ariadne, I started participating in social activities in Paris. Mostly they are things I would never do in my right mind - going to parties, shows, parcs, dances, opera, picnics, wine tastings, museums, etc with groups of people. Remember that before coming to Paris, I had spent a year in a cabin alone and mostly off the grid. During that time, I never felt lonely. Overall, I hated/dreaded being around people so much that sometimes I went out of my way to avoid people, and I usually told visitors to please go away. All I had to do was think of the awful American girlfriends, including the last one Alyssa, I had in case I ever started to feel lonely. (In hindsight, the only relationships that didn't end badly were with foreign, English not the first language, girlfriends while in the US. maybe there is a pattern here.)
To my surprise, by the end of my first week in Paris I felt horribly lonely. No gf, no friends - I usually dont care about those things - People suck and i try to avoid them.
Learning French has opened a whole new world for me. While doing these social things in Paris, I have met lots of women. I don’t even have to pursue them, they approach me, get my attention, and initiate the conversation. They don't seem to be bothered by my bad french. I'm obviously a foreigner, but they seem to think I'm Scottish until I correct them.
It is the opposite of situation with the American Woman. On her home turf, the American Woman seems to take more pleasure in rejecting any man who approaches her at a bar or any social venue than she gets from being in the acutal company of a man. It doesn’t matter how high or low quality he is compared to her - his looks, intentions, level of education, employment, fitness do not matter. (Here, however, American women don't seem to act like that. ) I've never "hit on" an American woman, but I've seen them in action and read and heard about it enough.
Now I began seeing several women at once while I was waiting for Ariadne to make up her mind. This was completely unexpected. In the US, American Women despise me. The would look at me and wrinkle their faces like they just stepped in dog shit. Keep in mind that I have never in my life asked out an American Woman. I have always avoided eye contact with them, I have never "checked them out," leered, objectified them, or shown them the slightest interest. Basically, I have been completely indifferent to them. At the same time, American Women (complete strangers I never saw before and had no interest in) have accosted me in the US and told me they had boy friends or husbands. It's like they wanted me to hit on them so they could reject me. I wasn't hitting on them or even glancing or making eye contact and was never going to, so they, complete strangers, would approach me and tell me I couldn't have them. Pre-mature rejection or something.
None of my new secret girlfriends speaks English, none know about any of the others, and they are all low maintenance. None has my keys, and not using social media helps. Although I did not encourage them and would lie and say I have a gf in the US and tell them Im not looking for a girlfriend, two of them, Malala and Enid have become very attached to me. That's bad. Other than that, they aren't serious.
Now that things are working out so far with Ariadne, I need to extricate myself from those other relationships without hurting anybody’s feelings. Most people have learned to deal with this by the time the finish high school or college, but I've never been in this situation before. Now I have let things go to far and I feel like I'm in over my head. On top of that, I'm addicted to morphine, and i think the morphine might have impaired my judgement and contributed to my getting into this.
To my surprise, by the end of my first week in Paris I felt horribly lonely. No gf, no friends - I usually dont care about those things - People suck and i try to avoid them.
Learning French has opened a whole new world for me. While doing these social things in Paris, I have met lots of women. I don’t even have to pursue them, they approach me, get my attention, and initiate the conversation. They don't seem to be bothered by my bad french. I'm obviously a foreigner, but they seem to think I'm Scottish until I correct them.
It is the opposite of situation with the American Woman. On her home turf, the American Woman seems to take more pleasure in rejecting any man who approaches her at a bar or any social venue than she gets from being in the acutal company of a man. It doesn’t matter how high or low quality he is compared to her - his looks, intentions, level of education, employment, fitness do not matter. (Here, however, American women don't seem to act like that. ) I've never "hit on" an American woman, but I've seen them in action and read and heard about it enough.
Now I began seeing several women at once while I was waiting for Ariadne to make up her mind. This was completely unexpected. In the US, American Women despise me. The would look at me and wrinkle their faces like they just stepped in dog shit. Keep in mind that I have never in my life asked out an American Woman. I have always avoided eye contact with them, I have never "checked them out," leered, objectified them, or shown them the slightest interest. Basically, I have been completely indifferent to them. At the same time, American Women (complete strangers I never saw before and had no interest in) have accosted me in the US and told me they had boy friends or husbands. It's like they wanted me to hit on them so they could reject me. I wasn't hitting on them or even glancing or making eye contact and was never going to, so they, complete strangers, would approach me and tell me I couldn't have them. Pre-mature rejection or something.
None of my new secret girlfriends speaks English, none know about any of the others, and they are all low maintenance. None has my keys, and not using social media helps. Although I did not encourage them and would lie and say I have a gf in the US and tell them Im not looking for a girlfriend, two of them, Malala and Enid have become very attached to me. That's bad. Other than that, they aren't serious.
Now that things are working out so far with Ariadne, I need to extricate myself from those other relationships without hurting anybody’s feelings. Most people have learned to deal with this by the time the finish high school or college, but I've never been in this situation before. Now I have let things go to far and I feel like I'm in over my head. On top of that, I'm addicted to morphine, and i think the morphine might have impaired my judgement and contributed to my getting into this.
Work-in-progress. This article attempts to address the confusion regarding the different chemicals found in morning glory seeds. Click here to see a list of the different chemicals found in morning glory seeds.
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Bruce Eisner: Well, people could say the same thing about LSD, they could say there’s sassafras and there’s nutmeg in nature, and there is morning glories and ergot in nature, but you have to do the chemistry in order to make something that’s effective.
Owsley: No, that’s not true. Ergot contains many natural, highly psychedelic alkaloids. Iso-ergine is one of them, hydroxyethyl-lysergamide* is another one, and in fact, is considered nearly identical to LSD in effect. Albert Hoffman told me so himself. They believe that it was this derivative contained in extracts of c.paspalum that was used in the Eleusian Mysteries.
Eisner, Bruce. "Interview with an Alchemist: Bear Owsley Interview." Bruce Eisner's Writings DOWNLOAD
-
Original article says hydroxy-methyl-lysergamide in place of hydroxyethyl-lysergamide. The latter is obviously a type-o of the former. Hydroxyethyl-lysergamide is a synonym of lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide:
lysergic acid alpha-hydroxyethylamide
lysergic acid methyl carbinolamide
N-(alpha-Hydroxyethyl)lysergamide
(S)-9,10-Didehydro-N-(1-hydroxyethyl)-6-methylergoline-8beta-carboxamide
Ergoline-8-carboxamide, 9,10-didehydro-N-(1-hydroxyethyl)-6-methyl-, (8-beta)-
Lysergamide, N-(1-hydroxyethyl)- (7CI)
(8beta)-N-(1-hydroxyethyl)-6-methyl-9,10-didehydroergoline-8-carboxamide
Source: http://www.guidechem.com/reference/dic-628998.html
There are other minor issues with the above quote. Why did Owsley reference isoergine, but not ergine? Nichols says the iso epimers of lysergamides are generally inactive.[1] And "many natural, highly psychedelic alakloids?" More like one or two. Ergonovine has been found to be psychedelic,[2][3] but Bigwood et al (ref. # 3) found that unnaturally high doses were needed to achieve good effects. I think a typical ergot or morning glory seeds preparation contains pretty low numbers of ergonovine; I still need to do calculations on the chemical analyses to see... Off the bat, I can say that Hofmann says this: "We were able to isolate the active principles responsible for the effect of these seeds and I was quite astonished to find out that these seeds contained as the active principles monoamide and hydroxyethylamide of lysergic acid and a bit of ergonovine."[4]
Gröger 1963[5] found lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide ("LAH") to be in greater quantity than ergine. Other analyses have found LAH to be in only small amounts. This could indicate LAH quickly decomposes simply when sitting in morning glory seeds; fresh seeds may only contain significant quantities of LAH. A web search will show that there is a rumor that only fresh morning glory seeds are truly psychedelic.
One issue with lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide is that it may simply convert to ergine in the body.[6][7][8][9][10] One Peter Webster pointed out at the 2006 LSD Symposium that ergine is unique in that it exists in three different forms.[11] He feels that only an equilibrium of the three different forms of ergine produce maximal psychedelic effects. wesbter doesn't acknowledge the presence of LAH, but I will add to his hypothesis that if lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide decomoses in the body, the ergine(s) that arise as such may be different than the ergine(s) found in a batch of seeds in which the LAH had decomposed.
This is a list of all the ergoline alkaloids that have been found in morning glory seeds. Note that many of these have only been found in small amounts.
chanoclavine-I
chanoclavine-II
rac. chanoclavine-II
agroclavine
festuclavine
dihydrolysergol-I (α-dihydrolysergol)
elymoclavine
lysergol
isolysergol
setoclavine
isosetoclavine
penniclavine
molliclavine
ergine
lysergic acid α-hydroxyethylamide
ergonovine
ergosine
Source: Solanaceae and Convolvulaceae: Secondary Metabolites: Biosynthesis, Chemotaxonomy, Biological and Economics Significance (a Handbook). Eckart Eich. 2008. pp. 241–245.[12]
These pages present tables showing all known ergoline-containing morning glory plants and all known ergolines contained in said plants. This selection can be downloaded here.
Chanoclavine is a prominent alkaloid found in these seeds, however Peter Webster has criticized its capability of being a contributor to the activity of these seeds:
Even the seldom faulted Merck Index lists chanoclavine as a possible active principle of ololiuhqui, a lysergic acid related alkaloid present in minor quantities in some samples of ololiuhqui and ergot as well, although no reports of its psychoactive nature have ever been reported. And indeed, if we believe the testimony of those who have told us how the Central American shamans prepare ololiuhqui, namely by cold water extraction of finely powdered seeds, then chanoclavine must be ruled out as it is almost totally insoluble in water. Chanoclavine is not even an amide. Nor has anyone shown any other chemical species in ololiuhqui to be suitably psychoactive.[12]
Shroomery member, i_was_the_walrus commented on the above quote:
And I really doubt chanoclavine would be active. Of all the 4 isomers of LSD, only 1 is active. It seems to rely quite heavily on the optical specificity. With chanoclavine, the carbon (8 on LSD) is unsaturated and achiral. If it has any biological activity, I'm betting it would be well into the milligram range. (Mar. 22, 2015)[13]
End for now.
1. 2006 LSD Symposium. See quote here: http://www.bluelight.org/vb/entries...er-Webster-at-the-2006-LSD-Symposium-(ergine)
2. Albert Hofmann in The Road to Eleusis: Unveiling the Secret of the Mysteries. R. G. Wasson, Albert Hofmann, and Carl A. P. Ruck, 1978. DOWNLOAD
See bottom of first column on page 10.
3. Entheogenic Effects of Ergonovine. Jeremy Bigwood, Jonathan Ott, Catherine Thompson, Patricia Neely. The Journal of Psychedelic Drugs, 11(1-2), Jan-Jun. 1979. DOWNLOAD
4. Stanislav Grof Interviews Dr. Albert Hofmann (1984). MAPS Bulletin 9.2 (Fall 2001): 22–35. http://www.maps.org/news-letters/v11n2/11222gro.html
5. Gröger D. Über das Vorkommen von Ergolinderivaten in Ipomoea-Arten. Flora 153:373-382. 1963. DOWNLOAD
NOTE: Lysergic acid carbinolamide is a synonym for lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide (see GuideChem reference at top of message).
6. easily decomposes in a weak acid solution to form ergine and acetaldehyde.
Stoll, A. and Hofmann, A. (1965) The ergot alkaloids. Located in R.H.F. Manske (ed.), The Alkaloids, Vol. VIII, Academic Press, New York, Chap. 21, p. 747
NOTE: ergine is a synonym for lysergic acid amide.
7. ready cleavage under hot aqueous conditions, yielding D-lysergamide and acetaldehyde.
N. Castagnoli, jun., K. Corbett, E.B. Chain, and R. Thomas, (1970) Biosynthesis of N-(a-Hydroxyethyl)lysergamide, a Metabolite of Claviceps paspali, Biochem. J., 117, 451
Note: lysergamide is a synonym for lysergic acid amide.
8. The α-hydroxyethylamide spontaneously decomposes to lysergic acid amide, and the naturally-occurring amide may arise by this process.
Heinz G. Floss & John A. Anderson. 'Biosynthesis of Ergot Toxins' (1980) in The Biosynthesis of Mycotoxins (Pieter S. Steyn, ed.), Elsevier, p. 21 (2012)
9. this material is quite unstable and is easily converted in the process of isolation.
TiHKAL (part 1). Alexander Shulgin. 1997. P. 313
10. These compounds,* although well documented as components in the Convolvulaceae, are possibly lost in several of the analyses of alkaloid composition. They are extremely unstable, and are very readily degraded into acetaldehyde and the corresponding amide, ergine or isoergine. In these instances their presence will be measured only by the elevated levels of the derived amides.
Alexander Shulgin. Psychopharmacological Agents, Vol. 4 (ed. Maxwell Gordon), Elsevier, Dec 2, 2012
*lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide & isolysergic acid hydroxyethylamide
11. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJS25nEcdZg
12. Solanaceae and Convolvulaceae: Secondary Metabolites: Biosynthesis, Chemotaxonomy, Biological and Economics Significance (a Handbook). Eckart Eich. 2008. pp. 241–245.
13. Sacred Mushrooms of the Goddess and the Secrets of Eleusis. Carl A.P. Ruck (editor). 2006. pp. 178–179.
NOTE: The above publication contains a transcription of Webster's speech at the 2006 LSD symposum (reference #11).
14. Shroomery member, i_was_the_walrus. Personal correspondence. Mar. 22, 2015.
-
Bruce Eisner: Well, people could say the same thing about LSD, they could say there’s sassafras and there’s nutmeg in nature, and there is morning glories and ergot in nature, but you have to do the chemistry in order to make something that’s effective.
Owsley: No, that’s not true. Ergot contains many natural, highly psychedelic alkaloids. Iso-ergine is one of them, hydroxyethyl-lysergamide* is another one, and in fact, is considered nearly identical to LSD in effect. Albert Hoffman told me so himself. They believe that it was this derivative contained in extracts of c.paspalum that was used in the Eleusian Mysteries.
Eisner, Bruce. "Interview with an Alchemist: Bear Owsley Interview." Bruce Eisner's Writings DOWNLOAD
-
Original article says hydroxy-methyl-lysergamide in place of hydroxyethyl-lysergamide. The latter is obviously a type-o of the former. Hydroxyethyl-lysergamide is a synonym of lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide:
lysergic acid alpha-hydroxyethylamide
lysergic acid methyl carbinolamide
N-(alpha-Hydroxyethyl)lysergamide
(S)-9,10-Didehydro-N-(1-hydroxyethyl)-6-methylergoline-8beta-carboxamide
Ergoline-8-carboxamide, 9,10-didehydro-N-(1-hydroxyethyl)-6-methyl-, (8-beta)-
Lysergamide, N-(1-hydroxyethyl)- (7CI)
(8beta)-N-(1-hydroxyethyl)-6-methyl-9,10-didehydroergoline-8-carboxamide
Source: http://www.guidechem.com/reference/dic-628998.html
There are other minor issues with the above quote. Why did Owsley reference isoergine, but not ergine? Nichols says the iso epimers of lysergamides are generally inactive.[1] And "many natural, highly psychedelic alakloids?" More like one or two. Ergonovine has been found to be psychedelic,[2][3] but Bigwood et al (ref. # 3) found that unnaturally high doses were needed to achieve good effects. I think a typical ergot or morning glory seeds preparation contains pretty low numbers of ergonovine; I still need to do calculations on the chemical analyses to see... Off the bat, I can say that Hofmann says this: "We were able to isolate the active principles responsible for the effect of these seeds and I was quite astonished to find out that these seeds contained as the active principles monoamide and hydroxyethylamide of lysergic acid and a bit of ergonovine."[4]
Gröger 1963[5] found lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide ("LAH") to be in greater quantity than ergine. Other analyses have found LAH to be in only small amounts. This could indicate LAH quickly decomposes simply when sitting in morning glory seeds; fresh seeds may only contain significant quantities of LAH. A web search will show that there is a rumor that only fresh morning glory seeds are truly psychedelic.
One issue with lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide is that it may simply convert to ergine in the body.[6][7][8][9][10] One Peter Webster pointed out at the 2006 LSD Symposium that ergine is unique in that it exists in three different forms.[11] He feels that only an equilibrium of the three different forms of ergine produce maximal psychedelic effects. wesbter doesn't acknowledge the presence of LAH, but I will add to his hypothesis that if lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide decomoses in the body, the ergine(s) that arise as such may be different than the ergine(s) found in a batch of seeds in which the LAH had decomposed.
This is a list of all the ergoline alkaloids that have been found in morning glory seeds. Note that many of these have only been found in small amounts.
chanoclavine-I
chanoclavine-II
rac. chanoclavine-II
agroclavine
festuclavine
dihydrolysergol-I (α-dihydrolysergol)
elymoclavine
lysergol
isolysergol
setoclavine
isosetoclavine
penniclavine
molliclavine
ergine
lysergic acid α-hydroxyethylamide
ergonovine
ergosine
Source: Solanaceae and Convolvulaceae: Secondary Metabolites: Biosynthesis, Chemotaxonomy, Biological and Economics Significance (a Handbook). Eckart Eich. 2008. pp. 241–245.[12]
These pages present tables showing all known ergoline-containing morning glory plants and all known ergolines contained in said plants. This selection can be downloaded here.
Chanoclavine is a prominent alkaloid found in these seeds, however Peter Webster has criticized its capability of being a contributor to the activity of these seeds:
Even the seldom faulted Merck Index lists chanoclavine as a possible active principle of ololiuhqui, a lysergic acid related alkaloid present in minor quantities in some samples of ololiuhqui and ergot as well, although no reports of its psychoactive nature have ever been reported. And indeed, if we believe the testimony of those who have told us how the Central American shamans prepare ololiuhqui, namely by cold water extraction of finely powdered seeds, then chanoclavine must be ruled out as it is almost totally insoluble in water. Chanoclavine is not even an amide. Nor has anyone shown any other chemical species in ololiuhqui to be suitably psychoactive.[12]
Shroomery member, i_was_the_walrus commented on the above quote:
And I really doubt chanoclavine would be active. Of all the 4 isomers of LSD, only 1 is active. It seems to rely quite heavily on the optical specificity. With chanoclavine, the carbon (8 on LSD) is unsaturated and achiral. If it has any biological activity, I'm betting it would be well into the milligram range. (Mar. 22, 2015)[13]
End for now.
1. 2006 LSD Symposium. See quote here: http://www.bluelight.org/vb/entries...er-Webster-at-the-2006-LSD-Symposium-(ergine)
2. Albert Hofmann in The Road to Eleusis: Unveiling the Secret of the Mysteries. R. G. Wasson, Albert Hofmann, and Carl A. P. Ruck, 1978. DOWNLOAD
See bottom of first column on page 10.
3. Entheogenic Effects of Ergonovine. Jeremy Bigwood, Jonathan Ott, Catherine Thompson, Patricia Neely. The Journal of Psychedelic Drugs, 11(1-2), Jan-Jun. 1979. DOWNLOAD
4. Stanislav Grof Interviews Dr. Albert Hofmann (1984). MAPS Bulletin 9.2 (Fall 2001): 22–35. http://www.maps.org/news-letters/v11n2/11222gro.html
5. Gröger D. Über das Vorkommen von Ergolinderivaten in Ipomoea-Arten. Flora 153:373-382. 1963. DOWNLOAD
NOTE: Lysergic acid carbinolamide is a synonym for lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide (see GuideChem reference at top of message).
6. easily decomposes in a weak acid solution to form ergine and acetaldehyde.
Stoll, A. and Hofmann, A. (1965) The ergot alkaloids. Located in R.H.F. Manske (ed.), The Alkaloids, Vol. VIII, Academic Press, New York, Chap. 21, p. 747
NOTE: ergine is a synonym for lysergic acid amide.
7. ready cleavage under hot aqueous conditions, yielding D-lysergamide and acetaldehyde.
N. Castagnoli, jun., K. Corbett, E.B. Chain, and R. Thomas, (1970) Biosynthesis of N-(a-Hydroxyethyl)lysergamide, a Metabolite of Claviceps paspali, Biochem. J., 117, 451
Note: lysergamide is a synonym for lysergic acid amide.
8. The α-hydroxyethylamide spontaneously decomposes to lysergic acid amide, and the naturally-occurring amide may arise by this process.
Heinz G. Floss & John A. Anderson. 'Biosynthesis of Ergot Toxins' (1980) in The Biosynthesis of Mycotoxins (Pieter S. Steyn, ed.), Elsevier, p. 21 (2012)
9. this material is quite unstable and is easily converted in the process of isolation.
TiHKAL (part 1). Alexander Shulgin. 1997. P. 313
10. These compounds,* although well documented as components in the Convolvulaceae, are possibly lost in several of the analyses of alkaloid composition. They are extremely unstable, and are very readily degraded into acetaldehyde and the corresponding amide, ergine or isoergine. In these instances their presence will be measured only by the elevated levels of the derived amides.
Alexander Shulgin. Psychopharmacological Agents, Vol. 4 (ed. Maxwell Gordon), Elsevier, Dec 2, 2012
*lysergic acid hydroxyethylamide & isolysergic acid hydroxyethylamide
11. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJS25nEcdZg
12. Solanaceae and Convolvulaceae: Secondary Metabolites: Biosynthesis, Chemotaxonomy, Biological and Economics Significance (a Handbook). Eckart Eich. 2008. pp. 241–245.
13. Sacred Mushrooms of the Goddess and the Secrets of Eleusis. Carl A.P. Ruck (editor). 2006. pp. 178–179.
NOTE: The above publication contains a transcription of Webster's speech at the 2006 LSD symposum (reference #11).
14. Shroomery member, i_was_the_walrus. Personal correspondence. Mar. 22, 2015.
In this part of the world where I am staying the drug "syabu" is very popular. Has anyone had any experience taking this drug and how does it make one feel after taking it?. I read that the most common way to take it is by lighting it up.in a glass and inhaling the smoke.
Although the pharmacology of isoergine (and even ergine itself) is not well studied, in other lysergic acid amides the iso epimers are generally inactive, at least when compared to the normal amides. Therefore, I still believe that ergine must be the species active at the receptor, but if the ergine/isoergine equilibration can occur at body pH and temp, then ergine could be generated in the brain from isoergine. This may be a key point, and you should go back and look at the Tetrahedron paper where they apparently did some kinetics on the process.
Thus, I think that isoergine would lack pharmacological effects. But… there is another factor to consider. Absorption and partitioning through the body and into the brain only occurs with the unprotonated forms of alkaloids. That is, ergine is an alkaloid that will be protonated, or charged, at body pH. As such, before it can be absorbed from the gut or cross into the brain, it must lose its charge, or give up its proton. In the uncharged form it will readily cross into the brain, but this fraction is relatively small, perhaps only a few percent of the total.
Because of the ability of the amide of the D-ring of isoergine to form a stabilizing hydrogen bond to the amine nitrogen, it can deprotonate very easily at body pH, giving a neutral species that will have a very high lipid solubility. The intramolecular hydrogen compensates for the energy cost of deprotonation and desolvation. Using semiempirical methods, I calculated the length of this hydrogen bond to be about 2.65 Angstroms. Somewhat long, but reasonable. The work you cite in Tetrahedron could be used for parallel discussion, but I don't have the paper here. The consequence of the hydrogen bond is that isoergine will be absorbed much more readily than ergine, and will penetrate the brain to a greater extent than ergine. Once inside the brain, however, facile epimerization of isoergine will lead back to an equilibrium that contains ergine, which is most likely the form of the molecule that I believe is active at the receptor. Importantly, however, I think the concentration of ergine could be much higher than if ergine itself was taken, IF epimerization of isoergine back to ergine can occur at physiological conditions. Thus, at the brain receptor where ergine acts, a much higher concentration will be achieved than if ergine had been administered originally. If isoergine did have significant pharmacological activity, something which I doubt, but without evidence, it could be there in pretty high concentration, compared to what would be there after pure ergine administration. So, the question is: if isoergine is placed in pH 7.4 at 37 degrees C, will a significant amount of ergine arise by epimerization in a reasonable amount of time?
This process is completely analogous to the proposal by G.P. Migliaccio, T.-L.N. Shieh, S.R. Byrn, B.A. Hathaway and D.E. Nichols, "Comparison of Solution Conformational Preferences for the Hallucinogens Bufotenin and Psilocin using 360 MHz Proton NMR Spectroscopy";, J. Med. Chem. 24, 206-209 (1981) to explain the high lipid solubility of psilocin, compared to bufotenin. In that paper, the authors proposed that an intramolecular hydrogen bond forms between the 4-hydroxy group of psilocin and the side chain amino group, providing enhanced penetration into the brain. Similarly, in isoergine, the hydrogen bond between the amide hydrogen and the unprotonated basic amine provides a very lipid-soluble, neutral substance that can easily be absorbed and penetrate into the brain. In pharmaceutical terms, we could consider that the "bioavailability" of isoergine would be much higher than that of ergine, following oral administration.
David Nichols - LSD Symposium transcripts? Posted here.
Thus, I think that isoergine would lack pharmacological effects. But… there is another factor to consider. Absorption and partitioning through the body and into the brain only occurs with the unprotonated forms of alkaloids. That is, ergine is an alkaloid that will be protonated, or charged, at body pH. As such, before it can be absorbed from the gut or cross into the brain, it must lose its charge, or give up its proton. In the uncharged form it will readily cross into the brain, but this fraction is relatively small, perhaps only a few percent of the total.
Because of the ability of the amide of the D-ring of isoergine to form a stabilizing hydrogen bond to the amine nitrogen, it can deprotonate very easily at body pH, giving a neutral species that will have a very high lipid solubility. The intramolecular hydrogen compensates for the energy cost of deprotonation and desolvation. Using semiempirical methods, I calculated the length of this hydrogen bond to be about 2.65 Angstroms. Somewhat long, but reasonable. The work you cite in Tetrahedron could be used for parallel discussion, but I don't have the paper here. The consequence of the hydrogen bond is that isoergine will be absorbed much more readily than ergine, and will penetrate the brain to a greater extent than ergine. Once inside the brain, however, facile epimerization of isoergine will lead back to an equilibrium that contains ergine, which is most likely the form of the molecule that I believe is active at the receptor. Importantly, however, I think the concentration of ergine could be much higher than if ergine itself was taken, IF epimerization of isoergine back to ergine can occur at physiological conditions. Thus, at the brain receptor where ergine acts, a much higher concentration will be achieved than if ergine had been administered originally. If isoergine did have significant pharmacological activity, something which I doubt, but without evidence, it could be there in pretty high concentration, compared to what would be there after pure ergine administration. So, the question is: if isoergine is placed in pH 7.4 at 37 degrees C, will a significant amount of ergine arise by epimerization in a reasonable amount of time?
This process is completely analogous to the proposal by G.P. Migliaccio, T.-L.N. Shieh, S.R. Byrn, B.A. Hathaway and D.E. Nichols, "Comparison of Solution Conformational Preferences for the Hallucinogens Bufotenin and Psilocin using 360 MHz Proton NMR Spectroscopy";, J. Med. Chem. 24, 206-209 (1981) to explain the high lipid solubility of psilocin, compared to bufotenin. In that paper, the authors proposed that an intramolecular hydrogen bond forms between the 4-hydroxy group of psilocin and the side chain amino group, providing enhanced penetration into the brain. Similarly, in isoergine, the hydrogen bond between the amide hydrogen and the unprotonated basic amine provides a very lipid-soluble, neutral substance that can easily be absorbed and penetrate into the brain. In pharmaceutical terms, we could consider that the "bioavailability" of isoergine would be much higher than that of ergine, following oral administration.
David Nichols - LSD Symposium transcripts? Posted here.
For some reason, I have this on a piece of paper.
30.04.2005: Joined Bluelight
21.04.2006: Mod of New Member Introductions
03.01.2007: Mod of EADD
17.04.2007: Left staff of EADD
05.11.2007: Left Staff of NMI
06.11.2007: Mod of Support
01.12.2007: Senior Mod (Support)
09.04.2009: Administrator
25.04.2011: Bluelight Crew
10.01.2012: Administrator
23.03.2012: Bluelight Crew
30.04.2005: Joined Bluelight
21.04.2006: Mod of New Member Introductions
03.01.2007: Mod of EADD
17.04.2007: Left staff of EADD
05.11.2007: Left Staff of NMI
06.11.2007: Mod of Support
01.12.2007: Senior Mod (Support)
09.04.2009: Administrator
25.04.2011: Bluelight Crew
10.01.2012: Administrator
23.03.2012: Bluelight Crew
Metro continued
Just before the subway entrance sits a teenaged girl, her head bowed in grief, her hair dangling confused and greasy, her arms holding her knees. In her lap, asleep, is a baby. It's wrapped in a soiled blanket. She sits on the dirty sidewalk, and next to her is a paper cup. In that little cup people drop money.
"Madonna with child" - as I wait for my assistant to arrive, many people passing give her money. They're doing the "Right Thing," helping people less fortunate. Many look emotionally relieved as they make their offerings, like they have been given a blessing. They're nice people unlike me or you. They will give the needy the shirts off their backs.
I've passed by the beggar girl for a month. I did not give her money. The operation is a scam. Every thing about her has been carefully engineered to arouse sympathy, guilt, and maybe even shame in the casual passer-by. In other words, she is a Mendicant, a highly skilled professional beggar. I know dozens like her by sight. It is interesting to watch them in action. They always wear the same dirty, ragged clothes. They always have body odor. They hold out a paper cup that only has a few copper coins on the bottom. People are always giving them money. And food, even to the fat beggars, and many are very fat, but people don't have common sense. This isn't Ethiopia in a famine.
Sometimes this particular girl has a baby. Sometimes a different older baby. Sometimes toddlers are with her. There are many more beggars like her. It seems like there is a child-beggar (who would normally be in high school or college ) on every street corner in the touristic areas.
There have been reports and criminal investigations into this. Picture Hell's Angels but with slavery and child abuse. The beggar business is operated by gangs who own luxery properties and expensive cars in Romania. The babies serve as props. A link has been reported between child trafficking and child begging. There are reports of child mutilation for the purpose of pity donations.
One man controls a large number of beggars in an area. He assigns each one a busy spot to work. He makes his rounds, collecting their earnings several times per day, and handing them their lunch, snacks, supper, etc.
I've watched them work - the child beggars working alone and women with or without a real baby (sometiems it's a fake baby, or if it's a real child, they rent babies by the day for this purpose, the baby appears to me to be unnaturally sleepy - reportedly drugged with heroin or fed cough syrup. Some are very aggressive and follow, push, and grab people (I assume as a ruse to distract them so they can pick pocket them, but I haven't actually seen them stick their hand in somebody's pocket. However, 1000s of people report being pickpocketed here each year).
Not only that, but when they are on a break from their begging, I have watched them brazenly steal things from shops.
I notice the beggar girl keeps emptying the cup into her pockets so only a few copper pieces are on the bottom for display. Although it was late morning and not so busy, within the 15 minutes I waited, about 20 people gave her money. Most were coins and some were cash. The smallest denomination of the Euro is a €5 note. So, she earned a minimum of 20€ in 15 minutes. And this is during a slow period after the morning rush hour and before the lunch rush. You can do the math. If she sits there long enough, all day, every day, and she does.....
Finally, my assistant Claudia arrives and we walk passed the beggar girl. She rattles the cup at us, " Please Monsier, My baby is hungry. Please..." Her voice trails away as we approach the stairs leading into the underground network of tunnels, trains, and rooms that make up the Metro. Somewhere down there, it connects to sewers, crypts, quarries, basements, caves, and catacombs. 6.1 million people ride the Metro each day. Paris has a population of more than 12 million people.
My boss asked me if Id every taken one before. I said, "a few times in San Francisco." San Fran has its own subway (BART).(, train, trolley, and bus systems but I've used them only a few times during emergencies). I might have written about one of those times on here a few years ago.
At the top of the stairs, I hesitated, breathing in what might be my last breath of fresh air for a long time. I usually walk or take a bicycle. My boss and Claudia walked down first. Dozens of people were going in and out. I finally felt hyperventilated and held a long deep breath and made a few hesitant steps down and was blassted by a stream of wet air. I cheated and sniffed a little without inhaling. It smelled like a melange of arm pits, strong perfume, crotches, cigarette smoke, shit, the chemical odors of scented soaps and body wash, and laundry detergent, rancid piss, puke. And it was so hot that it amplified the stench. I could see and feel the swarming clouds of airborne microorganisms germs and specks of filth getting into my lungs. Or maybe they were the black spots from oxygen deprivation.
I followed them down the stairs.
Just before the subway entrance sits a teenaged girl, her head bowed in grief, her hair dangling confused and greasy, her arms holding her knees. In her lap, asleep, is a baby. It's wrapped in a soiled blanket. She sits on the dirty sidewalk, and next to her is a paper cup. In that little cup people drop money.
"Madonna with child" - as I wait for my assistant to arrive, many people passing give her money. They're doing the "Right Thing," helping people less fortunate. Many look emotionally relieved as they make their offerings, like they have been given a blessing. They're nice people unlike me or you. They will give the needy the shirts off their backs.
I've passed by the beggar girl for a month. I did not give her money. The operation is a scam. Every thing about her has been carefully engineered to arouse sympathy, guilt, and maybe even shame in the casual passer-by. In other words, she is a Mendicant, a highly skilled professional beggar. I know dozens like her by sight. It is interesting to watch them in action. They always wear the same dirty, ragged clothes. They always have body odor. They hold out a paper cup that only has a few copper coins on the bottom. People are always giving them money. And food, even to the fat beggars, and many are very fat, but people don't have common sense. This isn't Ethiopia in a famine.
Sometimes this particular girl has a baby. Sometimes a different older baby. Sometimes toddlers are with her. There are many more beggars like her. It seems like there is a child-beggar (who would normally be in high school or college ) on every street corner in the touristic areas.
There have been reports and criminal investigations into this. Picture Hell's Angels but with slavery and child abuse. The beggar business is operated by gangs who own luxery properties and expensive cars in Romania. The babies serve as props. A link has been reported between child trafficking and child begging. There are reports of child mutilation for the purpose of pity donations.
One man controls a large number of beggars in an area. He assigns each one a busy spot to work. He makes his rounds, collecting their earnings several times per day, and handing them their lunch, snacks, supper, etc.
I've watched them work - the child beggars working alone and women with or without a real baby (sometiems it's a fake baby, or if it's a real child, they rent babies by the day for this purpose, the baby appears to me to be unnaturally sleepy - reportedly drugged with heroin or fed cough syrup. Some are very aggressive and follow, push, and grab people (I assume as a ruse to distract them so they can pick pocket them, but I haven't actually seen them stick their hand in somebody's pocket. However, 1000s of people report being pickpocketed here each year).
Not only that, but when they are on a break from their begging, I have watched them brazenly steal things from shops.
I notice the beggar girl keeps emptying the cup into her pockets so only a few copper pieces are on the bottom for display. Although it was late morning and not so busy, within the 15 minutes I waited, about 20 people gave her money. Most were coins and some were cash. The smallest denomination of the Euro is a €5 note. So, she earned a minimum of 20€ in 15 minutes. And this is during a slow period after the morning rush hour and before the lunch rush. You can do the math. If she sits there long enough, all day, every day, and she does.....
Finally, my assistant Claudia arrives and we walk passed the beggar girl. She rattles the cup at us, " Please Monsier, My baby is hungry. Please..." Her voice trails away as we approach the stairs leading into the underground network of tunnels, trains, and rooms that make up the Metro. Somewhere down there, it connects to sewers, crypts, quarries, basements, caves, and catacombs. 6.1 million people ride the Metro each day. Paris has a population of more than 12 million people.
My boss asked me if Id every taken one before. I said, "a few times in San Francisco." San Fran has its own subway (BART).(, train, trolley, and bus systems but I've used them only a few times during emergencies). I might have written about one of those times on here a few years ago.
At the top of the stairs, I hesitated, breathing in what might be my last breath of fresh air for a long time. I usually walk or take a bicycle. My boss and Claudia walked down first. Dozens of people were going in and out. I finally felt hyperventilated and held a long deep breath and made a few hesitant steps down and was blassted by a stream of wet air. I cheated and sniffed a little without inhaling. It smelled like a melange of arm pits, strong perfume, crotches, cigarette smoke, shit, the chemical odors of scented soaps and body wash, and laundry detergent, rancid piss, puke. And it was so hot that it amplified the stench. I could see and feel the swarming clouds of airborne microorganisms germs and specks of filth getting into my lungs. Or maybe they were the black spots from oxygen deprivation.
I followed them down the stairs.
Upon Waking
(It comes in softly, like morning light bleeding through a thin curtain, like night a pale lavender stain spreading into the sky, more perception than sight. And like illumination, or darkness, the world transforms around me but I feel heavy and unmovable. Maybe this is depression. I call it sadness because I want to cry and sometimes manage to. Sadness implies something contained within but this feels bigger, a vast wilderness. I find myself yearning for Ecuador.)
Memory: There is a bus on a winding mountain highway. I’m inside it, expected to get off because I rang the bell. Yesterday I must have bought a ticket, made this much of a plan. No one says a word—neither the bemused driver nor the sleepy passengers., No one asks where I am going, why I wanted to get off this far from town, no one obvious out there to greet me. Just me stepping off into the empty world with a few irrelevant belongings.
I want to sit down so I do. The bus heaves back out onto the black road, growing smaller like a leaf floating off down a river. Now it is just me and a dry wind. A huge sob wells up in me but at least there is no movie playing in my head. The sob seems completely unattached to anything and it floats off and now I am just sitting again. I couldn’t think if I wanted to and that is a relief.
I want to take my sandals off and let my feet touch the dust. I occupy a good amount of time picking lint out of the Velcro straps and then a few stray fears start buzzing around my head like gnats. Why did I get off the bus? What if the town is farther than I thought? What if it gets dark? What if someone is watching me?
I remember reading about Anne Frank’s father, how he and two of the Dutch helpers were the only ones to survive; how he didn’t know that yet when he returned to the city hoping to find at least his daughters. How do you go on into such ruin? Will I always live in this shattered world now? Will darkness and light keep up their incessant conversation around me as if I am not here?
Something is keeping me alive. I don’t have thoughts of death, only exhaustion. I feel like I have to keep moving every day in order to not succumb to this fatigue. I wonder what it would be like to have someone say, “I will take care of you. You can lie down as long as you want. You never have to get up again if you don’t want to.” That fantasy gives me a lot of comfort. I am probably just here to pretend that I can have that. No expectations. No responsibilities. No need to think or act. Just feel. Blessed land of pilgrimage, my heart trudging beside me like a burro, shouldering all the burden without complaint. Buying random bus tickets with my dwindling money, finding a bed, washing my underwear in sinks. Exquisite little happiness to find it dry in the morning.
(It comes in softly, like morning light bleeding through a thin curtain, like night a pale lavender stain spreading into the sky, more perception than sight. And like illumination, or darkness, the world transforms around me but I feel heavy and unmovable. Maybe this is depression. I call it sadness because I want to cry and sometimes manage to. Sadness implies something contained within but this feels bigger, a vast wilderness. I find myself yearning for Ecuador.)
Memory: There is a bus on a winding mountain highway. I’m inside it, expected to get off because I rang the bell. Yesterday I must have bought a ticket, made this much of a plan. No one says a word—neither the bemused driver nor the sleepy passengers., No one asks where I am going, why I wanted to get off this far from town, no one obvious out there to greet me. Just me stepping off into the empty world with a few irrelevant belongings.
I want to sit down so I do. The bus heaves back out onto the black road, growing smaller like a leaf floating off down a river. Now it is just me and a dry wind. A huge sob wells up in me but at least there is no movie playing in my head. The sob seems completely unattached to anything and it floats off and now I am just sitting again. I couldn’t think if I wanted to and that is a relief.
I want to take my sandals off and let my feet touch the dust. I occupy a good amount of time picking lint out of the Velcro straps and then a few stray fears start buzzing around my head like gnats. Why did I get off the bus? What if the town is farther than I thought? What if it gets dark? What if someone is watching me?
I remember reading about Anne Frank’s father, how he and two of the Dutch helpers were the only ones to survive; how he didn’t know that yet when he returned to the city hoping to find at least his daughters. How do you go on into such ruin? Will I always live in this shattered world now? Will darkness and light keep up their incessant conversation around me as if I am not here?
Something is keeping me alive. I don’t have thoughts of death, only exhaustion. I feel like I have to keep moving every day in order to not succumb to this fatigue. I wonder what it would be like to have someone say, “I will take care of you. You can lie down as long as you want. You never have to get up again if you don’t want to.” That fantasy gives me a lot of comfort. I am probably just here to pretend that I can have that. No expectations. No responsibilities. No need to think or act. Just feel. Blessed land of pilgrimage, my heart trudging beside me like a burro, shouldering all the burden without complaint. Buying random bus tickets with my dwindling money, finding a bed, washing my underwear in sinks. Exquisite little happiness to find it dry in the morning.