Blogs

I'm just copying+pasting from another post where it was in a board where I couldn't just post my personal experience that I just went throught.

"Hey, So i'm just coming back from a very lucky trip from Brazil. I was able to get valium easier than candy. And because I know a friend who knows a friend who works in a pharmacy, I Was able to get my Methadone without prescription. It's called Mytedom there.
Anyways, I have a question about the Diazepam. I would take like 8 at once sometimes and it wouldn't be the same as if i taken 8 here in the U.S. Has anyone ever experienced this with overseas medication? Like it's not as potent as it is here. I was so amazed at how easy it was to bring back Diazepam, I might go back in 2 months and bring back like 10 boxes, And each box is MUCH cheaper then it is here. I'm not sure if i'm allowed to say the price, So i won't.
And i got the Methadone because i'm on methadone maintnance, and my clinic wasn't letting me go on this trip. So they thought I was going to come back on the plane withdrawing begging for help. I came back with 3 boxes of methadone, They were a bit shocked. I told them, If you know people, You can pretty much get anything easily in South American countries.
I'm glad that i left in time because i started itching to get some liquid morphine. Since it was so easy to get methadone, I think it would be just the same to get liquid morphine, But then with the diazepam, That might've cause an OD. So maybe it's good that i left when i left. Anyways, Thanks for reading, and i'm happy to hear other stories about trips and getting chemicals in other countries. And if in fact they are stronger in the U.S. or not. "

Thanks for taking the time to read my story

Beefy

It's been a long time since I've had any kind of recreational experience from substances. This is depressing considering how much shit I get through. It's all about maintenance now. When did I become so high maintenance?

Scripted medications and other self-prescribed 'meds' have become non-optional crutches without which I can't get through a single day. And it's not like I'm doing amazing things with my days, either. Just getting by.

When I get to know people a bit and mention that I'm taking this or that, they look at me with an expression of wondrous curiosity as if I'm a party lovin' free spirit who does what he wants and says 'fuck tha man!'. But it's not like that at all.

I started drinking, smoking weed, and generally taking whatever pills (downers and painkillers) that I could get my hands on way too young, not because I was a wild rebel or anything. Rather, it's because I always felt out of place.

When I was a little kid, I sometimes flipped out over stupid shit. I busted up my favourite bike with a baseball bat, or scratched my skin bloody with my hands. Why? I still don't know.

Maybe I'm possessed or something.. hehehe

Now, in my mid-thirties, I still feel out of place. But I don't scratch myself (or anyone else!) or break things anymore... so that's a start!

To quote the Grateful Dead: "What a long, strange trip it's been"

<end communication>

6/10/10 was the day I got locked up which basically forced me to finally get off of suboxone for good. so it's been about 4 years since I've shot dope. feeling kinda proud of myself right now and since this is my blog I can fuckin gloat a little. :D

Can't find any headies.... commercial sucks.... come on! 1 more week and I'll be all good, but that week seems so far away.

edit

I as I obsessively do, like a ritual, look at her facebook page. I tried to stop doing it for some time, calling it "obsessive" as if this is necessarily bad (yet, it would be?). I tried to stop, but things drew me back.

The experience could be seen as like insanity, but that is just the face of a bird in a butterflies wings, perhaps, just as well. I'm still really far off.

I'm trying to justify feelings. To be driven crazy over the opposite sex. To have desire, at one time or another. To be driven to feel, and "love". Desperation, like for water. And light.

We struggle to be independent. This is impossible. You were never independent. There are parts of you, and strings attached, that aren't you- that are dependent on others. Unless you live completely isolated... But even still, you depended on many to get to where you are, now. Without their chatting around campfires, you might not have the head you have, or anything. No, you wouldn't.

It's all meta.

I think. Maybe. Of course variation exists. But even that can find itself in others, and in it's experience. This doesn't mean anything crazy. It's just how things are. Like how water carves through a river, we are the bed. And the water. Inherently, not much variation would exist, even though a lot would. But relation would always be. The same fundamentals.

Uhh.

But I trailed off.

She got me. I don't feel it the same now, but it's almost robotic. I saw that, then.

I wanted to see if she had changed her image, which she sometimes does in perfect timing, as things with her fell in perfect timing. Today's my birthday. She changed it right at her birthday, to an angel. Then she changed it on mine. Now her face. Then my mom texts me at 1:59, wishing me happy birthday. Donna's name, although the 1:59 didn't jump totally this way, the feeling is not there quite, I just noted that Donna's name has this sum, of 159. This her full name if N=15 P=16, Etc. I had already related her to my mom by way of numbering certain things, such as times, and through their names. Donna relates. And to others, and time in my life to things/events/people.

I heard 23 today. On the radio. 23 was a number I heard in doubles, at least three times. It was of a phone number on the radio, for a window installation place. 1-800-802(?)-2323, 1-800-802(?)-2323, 1-800-802(?)-2323. I never (I don't remember the last time) hear it like this.

I saw the number 159 on a van, on my way to get rolling papers- my first destination of the day. I wrote it off (and don't remember the name of the van but I remembered it and the numbers could tie in with meaning), even though alignment had already occurred in that direction, with the numbers, my mom, my birthday, her picture. It was rather obvious.

It was the first number I'd really pay attention to, in big black letters, eye level, just after leaving apartment. It was ahead of another car, which had numbers 223, and something else- letters I can't remember. But I wrote it all off, more or less... Not wrote off, I guess, just accepted it. Accepted. Didn't make a big deal. It happens. But I feel like writing about it now, and want to remember everything.

Later

I just watched Archer, on Netflix. I haven't watched this in awhile. It was his birthday in this episode.

Ever since my son died I have fantasized leaving. At first it was an escape fantasy, pure and simple: just point the car out of town in any direction and start driving. Of course where I live this included pointing it west where that meant driving off a cliff, and at my worst I considered that on a daily basis, too. I didn't want to see anything that had anything to do with the past. I didn't want to drive past the hospital where he was born, I didn't want to see our own house or the apartment where I found him dead. I didn't want to see my friends because the pain in their faces and in their voices was unbearable. Even my husband and other son made me want to flee because seeing their devastation was almost worse than experiencing my own.

Now it has been two years. Everything changes. The rawness of grief becomes less constant. Moments of joy once again fuse together and whole afternoons or mornings or nights taste delicious again. There are always the moments of stabbing pain--the missing, pure and simple, that will never be gone. But, though none of the old triggers set me off in the life-stopping way they used to, I still feel the need to leave. I keep coming back to this desire. I've been trying to explore it more and more as time goes by and I think it has to do with needing to be alone to stitch myself back together.

Long before Caleb died our family was in chaos around his life. My husband and I had for years neglected our own relationship, focusing everything on Caleb and his vulnerabilities and enormous needs. Everything we did as a family centered around what was best for Caleb in our eyes. It was as if all three of us,( my husband, other son and I), were focused exclusively on one thing--keeping Caleb alive and keeping his hope alive. When he died, each of our individual lives shattered. At first we were each other's refuge. We cried openly, screamed openly, sat rocking and uncommunicative openly and we each held space for the others to do this. But over time, we have begun to develop scar tissue. We hide our pain from each other because we know what it takes to go on and acknowledging how tightly we are holding ourselves threatens that hard-won control.

Last year, I began fantasizing about going to South America and finding a community where I would not be around English speakers where I could simply be by myself--a self-exile from familiarity and comfort. I want to feel what I need to feel without censure and I want privacy. I want to fold what I need to fold away and I want to learn to carry what I need to carry on my own, without the distraction of anyone else. Not forever. Just for now.

So I traded every credit card mile I have been saving for a ticket to Ecuador. I will leave in August and land in Quito. I booked a cheap room through AirBnB with a couple that rents out a small room in the historic section of the city. Though I have only corresponded with them through email in Spanish, one of the guys is named Byron and looks very British so I suspect that he will speak English. Other than that plan, there is no plan for the next 3-4 months. I don't have any money saved and my husband is only going along with this plan if I can manage to pay for myself when I am there so I will have to find something. I am actually feeling a lot of fear about that though I am practicing self-talking myself down from that useless state.

I just heard that one of my former students (now 19) is working for room and board in an Inn in the Amazonian region in exchange for handling the English Facebook page, baking desserts, and gardening. If I could find something like that I would be in heaven. Whatever happens, I know that it will be an adventure and I am looking forward to being surprised by life. I will take some of Caleb's ashes with me and scatter them where it feels appropriate. He always wanted to spend his life traveling. Getting a felony for possession of acid was one of the circumstances in his life that defeated him. I used to try to tell him that it would not impact him as much as he thought but I know that it would have meant more than a few countries that would not have let him in. I wanted to take his backpack but it is just too big for me.

I took a leave from my job and yesterday was my last day of classes. I got so many hugs and cards from my students and my fellow teachers and the staff at my school. I feel very privileged to have a job that I feel so appreciated for and yet even that is something I am feeling distance from. It is as if every connection I ever had was severed and I am sitting in front of one of those electrical boxes on the street, staring at a thousand wires, wondering what is essential and what can just stay severed. Everything has changed, is changing still. I think what I am doing is trying to create space for myself. I need to feel my way back into my own body.

If I manage to support myself for the whole 4 months of my work-leave, I will turn 60 in South America. If that comes true I will write a birthday blog in Spanish.

I *despise* baby showers. The games, the crappy hors d'oeuvres, the ridiculously stupid games, the oohing and ahhing over all the gifts. The worst part of it is being forced to socialize with people that I don't really care for. I understand why alcohol isn't a regular thing at baby showers with pregnancy and all, but it sure would be a lot more pleasant for us guests if the punch was spiked a bit.

When it comes to these things, I'm glad I have few friends so I don't have to deal with it. This girl is lucky that I pretty much consider her to be like a sister. There are only a couple other people that I would travel 2 and a half hours to endure 4 hours of hell.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day...

Okay.....8 yr's ago I smoked so much meth that I went the a psychosis. I've seen people do more but they never wound up like me. I never ate nor drank fluids......I went thru a psychosis in the city and I walked around the whole sitting delusional that cops where after me and they where just trying to see me make a bad move to arrest me....I was so convinced that they where that I called them and in my delusional state said I had gave three girls HIV. Which I didn't have nor have I ever used needles. This brought the cops down on me hard. First I asked if I could go to the hospital to check if I was infected. They said yes but they also knew I had been using meth. So after freaking out in the hospital...I had a bench warrent and they took me to the worst jail in the midwest......Prison is better then this jail, thats how bad it is. So I get out after five days and by this point I was completely delusional. I thought cannibals and zombies where after me. I think it was caused by the detox in jail. I get out and I go to the club I worked at and I get five mollies and ate them all and I wanted to end it. Not to hurt anyone but out of fear that I was going to die a painful death. I then get picked up by the cops for public intox and they shoot me up in both forarms with a gun like needle and they take me to the hospital....After the two shots it knocked me smooth out.....After that I was in and out of jail four times. The last time I stayed in for two months even tho it was a different jail in my county....I was scared. No advocate no help while in jail.....Went thru this psychosis about 7 months then I started to get my marbles back. But, I lost friends, my gf at the time.....and I was humbled beyond humbled.

Not sure what I want to say here. I'm not looking for sympathy or acceptance or help or anything. I think I just want to say out loud-or write down anyway what I'm thinking. Probably nobody will care anyway.

I am a junkie. Why doesn't that bother me? I guess it does sometimes but deep down inside I don't want to quit. I love it so much. Everything I read on here, everything people tell me or told me just isn't true. At least it hasn't been true for me. They said "it's never as good as the first time" Well, that's a crock because it's always amazing!!!!

I'm going to try writing a blog post when I'm in a relatively good mood this time and less prone to rants :D

So it's been ten days since I've touched any kind of opiate whatsoever. Bit longer off heroin. An aMT trip around that time helped me realise what I've been doing to myself and that it really is time to get clean before it's too late to fix things. Honestly, so far it's really been hell. Psychological withdrawals are truly getting to me and I didn't even know it was possible to experience such intense mood swings. I wrote a suicide note earlier this afternoon and two hours later I was feeling pleasant and cheery. It genuinely is impossible to describe the emptiness coming off opiates is making me feel and with every second I just have more respect for anyone who's actually managed to do so.

Anyway, aside from that...I'm moving back to Paris tomorrow for the summer. Definitely looking forward to that since I'll have all my old 'real' friends around, but in the meantime the packing and moving from one country to another on my own isn't helping with stress. But hey, this time tomorrow it'll be done. Just gotta get through the day.

I'm starting an internship at this really big deal publishing company next monday for the month. It's quite literally the opportunity of a lifetime since I'm going to be making a ton of contacts, meeting authors etc., so I really can't mess this up. Hopefully my mood will have stabilised just enough by then to enable me to make something out of myself.

Hm...really nothing interesting going on in my life actually. Just thought I'd take this opportunity to write a slightly nicer blog post than the previous ones have been.

I'd write a blog but it would be boring. I am one of the millions of people on this earth living a monotonous boring life leaving no real input or effect behind me.

Maybe I need to stop/reduce my partying/amphetamine use (they go hand in hand, really). When I'm on them, I feel the happiest I have ever felt, the happiest I could feel. Dancing like crazy for hours, to my favourite songs, with my favourite DJs... I don't think there can be a better feeling. I actually think WOW I feel great, I have an awesome life, I'm super lucky, everything is going perfectly.

But fucckk, I'm always feeling it the next day. And then I get all depressed and like, my life is shit. And I just feel unmotivated and everything. YES I know this is a hangover and it's not new or anything. But it really sucks feeling this way!!!

Like I really don't know what I'd do if I stopped partying. I actually am happy 6/7 days of the week. My Monday-Friday 9-5 job is awesome, I do love it. Then I go out partying one night and have an awesome time then. Then that seventh day (usually the Sunday), I hate life. I'm unhappy and unmotivated and I just hate everything. But like, I can't give up partying, I really love it, it is the most fun I have all week. I'm in love with music and I listen to it ALL the time (except when I'm working or sleeping).

I know I'm just writing this cuz I'm feeling shitty and depressed, I know I'll be fine tomorrow, I'm not self medicating today and realizing how much I WANT to be. I just want to be back there... clubbing... feeling on top of the world... gah. I don't know what I'm looking for or what I want (well obviously more dopamine or whatever so I can feel normal). It's just impossible to explain this to most people I know and I think my boyfriend is slightly tired of me acting all blaaa (which I understand!). I'm just waiting for the next party... or to feel more normal at least!!!

If I were on drugs still, I'd have never made this trip to Key Largo. There's pics below.

I'd never have had the money to spare. If I had the money for the condo and the boat ride I'd have been too fucked up to get on the boat. But instead of sitting at home sick or wasted, I went snorkeling with some good friends and had loads of fun I didn't have to feel guilty about later. Nobody is angry with me and I have nothing to apologize for. At least not for anything I did Friday through Sunday.



The camera that was supposedly water proof didn't make it.

My girlfriend is in China on business. She has been gone for a week and it will be another week before she's back.

I'm going to the dentist tomorrow.

I'm trying to get tan and lighten my hair with chamomile tea. It's sort of working maybe.

There was a guy in the restaurant I work at on Monday, he was a Korean war veteran. I thanked him for his service. I would probably have been enlisted and sent to the Middle East in 2005 except that I couldn't pass a drug test. Thank God.

This is what my thoughts are like these days. I don't remember being so scattered. I used to be able to focus better, I think. I blame smart phones.






Starcraft.

I am sitting in the lobby of the methadone clinic having just picked up 2 takehomes and waiting for the dose I just consumed to course through my veins. I took a bit of a loss this week as the Americans took down Liberty Reserve. This is the second time I've lost a significant amount with the firm's owner Arthur. He took a hit in 2005 but after he re-gained his footing he fully refunded that initial loss and so like any sucker I fell for it. Still, I move most things through a traditional Jewish system and only dealt with Arthur when I dealt with non-Jews (Arthur is a Jew but when I enter into arrangements with non-Jews I cannot use the regular system). Liberty was great because if I had any issue I knew who go to. There is a system based in Malaysia that I might look into on my long awaited return to the Orient.

Then, a guy I know got popped with 39,000 glassines. Back in the day a retailer dealer owned his own stamp, he bought directly from a connection and bagged it himself. Back before my day people would buy a "Nickel," a 5 dollar bag in a plain glassine branded with coloured tape. Brands were known, for example, as "Green Tape," "Blue Tape" and so on. Nicel dealers bought up to an ounce, already adulterated to 35 to 50% purity, once removed from the importer. Buying from a Nickel man junkies would whack it down to 5% and bag 5 to 10 "Dos" or "Tray" [sic] bags costing $2 or $3 respectively. Other junkies would usually buy a 2 or 3 Dollar bag from such petty dealers.

Then, in 1975 Nicky Barnes changed the game, selling his famous "Quarter Bags," a tablespoon of 10% heroin stuffed into a double packed glassine, very fat and costing- as the name suggests, $25 per bag. After Barnes got popped and his underlings fell one by one the game shifted to Nickels as the usual retail package, petty dealers buying relatively pure grammes. By 1981 "Dimes" began and by 1982 stamps began. Since 1982 the only thing to change in packaging is the proliferation in different wholesale units outside of New York City.

Up until the new millenium everybody on the East Coast was buying New York Dimes and eating off the extra "PC" that distance offered. As soon as you left Queens heading east out to Long Island, north out of the Bronx up into Yonkers and White Plains or across the Hudson River into New Jersey the dime became a $15 bag. Move west or south of Newark and that 15 bag became a "20 piece." By the time you were in Washington DC that dime would get you $30 and it jumped to 50 in the Carolinas.

In all of the 1990s there was only a single dime outlet in Newark, "Puma" brand on South StrEet in Ironbound, in between what was then two Portuguese neighbourhoods and is today a straight up ghetto. The proliferation in wholesale units that I mentioned related mostly to a unit those in the Northeast US call a "Brick," 100 glassines in New York, 50 in Northern New Jersey, 130 in Camden, Atlantic City and Philadelphia. These developed as these other areas developed their own dime trades. Today it is cheaper and much easier to buy heroin in Newark, Irvington and Paterson than it is in New York itself. In New York the trade is entirely off the street now, if you don't have a petty dealer's cell phone you are fuck out of luck.

Paterson and Newark are what New York was 20 years ago...

Today importers have cut out the middle man and are importing several kilos at a time. Running 12 hour shifts they have kids stampings tens of thousands of glassines and bagging it all up. The bust I mentioned earlier was of a mill that suprisingly dealt with just a single stamp, which is probably how they were discovered. "Blackberry," with a stamp of a Blackberry phone was all this mill dealt with. 39,000 glassines in one fall swoop. It sounds like a lot of dope but when you realise that 1 gramme off the boat becomes 10 on a table things come clearer into focus.

Lately I have felt like heading to Cambodia for a month or two, can you tell? Hahaha...

A continuation...

Sleeping on my auntie's convertible sofa in the right armpit of Hell, I basically did nothing but work, fall asleep as they watched cheesy Arab TV since their sitting room was my "bedroom" and motivated myself by taking those flights up to New York every 4 to 6 weeks. Bringing home a "brick," 100 glassines of heroin for a rough total of 10 grammes, I would sniff 3 bags in the loo then lie down on the couch (I rarely pulled it out into "bed" mode) and nod off as they watched shit that made Bollywood look like Academy Award-winning materiel.

If they weren't watching that garbage it was, "Are You Being Served Yet?" It was a BBC show about an English department store and lightly satirised English class distinctions, management could not sit next to peons in the cafeteria, etc., and so on. I really hated that show. As I said, most of my time was consumed with my 3 jobs, my main gig being stockboy slash cashier in a Walgreens pharmacy, though in the sundries department, nothing to do with the pharmacy per se.

I would usually work from 1PM to 930PM, then my auntie would pick me up and drive me several kilometers to the Watkins terminal where I jumped on my trusty forklift and shuffled freight until 3AM, or thereabouts. The Walgreens sat on Atlantic Boulevard, the main drag of the town I was living in, Delray Beach, in Palm Beach County. It sat directly opposite the retirement community where my auntie's condo was located. "King's Point" was one vast sickbed, with close to 20,000 elderly residents and virtually all of them Ashkenazi Jews from New York.

I have a great amount of patience. In the IDF I have had foreign activists spit in my face and never even flicked the safety on my rifle off. Yet, working with that vast herd of cottonheads nearly drove me insane. There is a stereotype that Jews are cheap, tight with money. I always got angry hearing that because I had never met a cheap Jew in my life. Walgreen's made me a true believer.

There would be a line of 6 or 7 people. I was efficient, moving them right along, but every third or fourth customer would bust my balls. "Waaaaaaaa, your flyer says the Hershey chocolate syrup is 99 Cents! Why are you charging me $1.06???"

Rachamim: "Ma'am, I'm sorry about that but there is tax."

Irate Elderly Jewish Bitch (IEJB): "Noooooo! There is NO tax ON food!!!"

Rachamim: "If you would like, I could call a manger for you."

IEJB: "I don't need a manager! I want the price advertised in your flyer!"

Rachamim: "If you want THAT price ma'am, I will have to call the manager."

IEJB: "Are you hard of hearing? I said I do NOT need the manager, I need the advertised price!!!"

This never ending routine of spittle, piss and vinegar really took a toll on me. The most memourable experience was when a customer wanted a refund. I had him fill out the requisite slip. Seeing his surname, "Levine," I addressed him as "Mr. Levine" (it is a Jewish Tribal name denoting descendants of the tribe of Levi, and it is pronounced "Lah-veen"). He immediately turned nasty:

Nasty Man: "My name isn't Lah-veen!!! It is Lah-vine (as in "grape vine")!!!"

Rachamim: "Oh, I'm sorry sir. I'm Jewish and Jews always pronounce it as 'Lah-veen'."

NM: "Are you some sort of smart ass? I told you my name is 'Lah-vine!!!"

R: "I'm sorry, I've never heard anyone pronounce it the way you do but Ill be sure not to repeat the mistake in the future."

NM: "Future? What fucken future? You think I would ever go twice to a place where some young asshole disrespected me?"

At Walgreens we had to wear ties and a cheesy blue vest.I took off my tie, took off my vest as he continued talking shit and I told him, "I apologised to you twice and you keep running your fucken' mouth. You think cause' I'm behind this counter that I will not see you in the parking lot and smack your teeth out mothhafucer'?" I never scream, I always say such yhings matter of factly but I rarely even say anything.

To me, a person shouldn't talk about it, they should let their actions speak. Nine times out of ten? A person who talks shit loudly is doing the equivalent of when a gorilla pounds his chest, they are trying to make themselves appear stronger than they are. In any event, someone had apparently ran and found Mr. Burns, the square ass assistant manager. "Whoaaaaaaa! Raki, go to the breakroom NOW!"

Rachamim: "Nah, I'm going outside first."

By now Mr. Lah-vine is realising he fucked with the wrong cashier and is stammering, trying to shift his story. "I don't know what kind of people Walgreens is hiring these days but you ought to send this one back to his Work Release programme." I stretch my neck to relieve tension cause I wanted to slap him so hard. I didn't want to punch him. Slapping is a sign of total disrespect. The only thing more effective is sodomy but that has never been in my bag of tricks. There isn't enough imagination in the world to allow me to run up in some guy's arse.

I went to the breakroom, expecting to be fired when square ass Burns walked in. He was slightly pissed at me, "What's wrong with you Raki? You cannot challenge customers to a fight. I tried explaining what had transpired but Burns brushed it all off. To his credit he never discussed what happened again, nor did he inform the manager.

Another memourable experience was when a frozen yoghurt joint opened up 2 doors away. I love that and so I was often there. There was always a tonne of cottonheads who had just finished their earlybird specials at the surrounding resturants and cafes. Standing on line I saw a lady ahead of me accidentally drop a penny. As if on cue every head on our side of the counter stared excitedly at the floor. I was like, "Nooooooo, fuck the penny! Don't do this!" The moral? Some stereotypes are rooted in fact.


I will continue in a following post

A continuation...

At the time I would do 3 or 4 glassines in a sitting, relegating my use to 3 or 4 tomes a week and so I was able to make it last between trips up north. On one of my trips to New York I ran across one of my mates from back in the day. Catching up I discovered that his mother and siblings had moved to Florida and were living in Tampa. I gave him my contact info and told him to be sure to look me up if he ever made his way down south.


Lo and behold, not two months later I was on my forklift unloading a "pig," a 53-foot trailer full of freight. The dispatcher called me over the intercom and told me to come to the dispatcher's office for a phone call. My first thought was that somebody in my family had passed away. Grabbing the phone I was moderately relieved to discover it was my mate from New York, Fernando, or as he was usually called, "Boo Boo" (aren't all petty drug dealers named "Boo Boo"?).

To my suprise Fernando had moved south to Tampa and asked me to come pay him a visit. Living in Delray Beach this meant a 5 hour drive- or 6 hours and change busride- if I were to accept Boo Boo's invitation. My auntie and other relatives had begun worrying about my working 3 jobs, 7 days a week and so to kill the two proverbial birds with one stone I accepted Boo Boo's invitation and informed him I would take a Greyhound bus across the Floridian peninsula if he would have somebody pick me up at Tampa's central busstation.

Before too long I actually began looking forward to my mini-vacation and even allowed myself 5 days to see the sights in Tampa. Arriving on a Friday afternoon Boo Boo was there with his elder brother Ralphie who had driven him downtown to pick me up. The family was living in a section of town known as "Seminole Heights," just west of West Tampa, the neighbourhood immediately west of Downtown Tampa. With Ralphie, his obese wife Carmen and their 3 young children living in Boulveard Homes, a West Tampa housing project, Boo Boo, his slightly younger sister Francis [sic] age 18, and younger brother Mikey- age 15, lived with their mother and her live in boyfriend. The house, a pre-War bungalow on a tree-lined street was ideal because it contained a one room house in the backyard and that is where I parked myself for the next 5 days.

As Boo Boo sat on the bed telling me about Tampa I asked him about the city's drugs situation. At the time there was practically no heroin to speak but the city was flooded with crack cocaine. In New York, at the time, a half gramme vial of crack was selling for $10 and when he told me a single vial of what we both know to be "Red Top," a popular brand of crack in the South Bronx and East Harlem at the time would provide 4 to 5 of what users in Tamp referred to as "dubs," or "20 Cent pieces," a tiny rock of crack cocaine selling for $20 per. Right away I was seeing dollar signs, how much more so since I had a plentiful and relatively local source of very pure cocaine (though at that point I really had no idea what my cousin in Miami was hooked into).


After quickly greeting the family Boo Boo, Ralphie, Mikey and sister Francis piled into Ralphie's beat up Toyata and went to their cousin Leslie's home where she and her common law husband joined us and we went to the movies. Somehow or another I ended up sitting next to Francis and from that point on we began a romantic relationship that within a year would offer me my first non-Israeli child.


To be continued...

i am not a prize to be won. or a prize to be conquered. i find it absurd that people are talking to me about me and guys like it is a game. i don't give a shit if people gossip behind my back.

i know my breakup with unglued is somewhat odd. i know moving back in with vgoraz makes it even odder. i know that remaining friends with fucktwat has people guessing. i know that unglued and another girl traveling to see each other makes for good gossip. and i realize that many people have learned of most of these details over the last several weeks and most of them didn't realize how much of this has played out behind the scenes for quite awhile.

but if i didn't want to discuss my personal life with you in the past. and you are find this crap out thru gossip. why in the world would i want to talk to you about stuff now. i've gotten bizarre comments like "i bet XXX that you are going to end up with fucktwat or vgoraz. unglued is the longshot" or "vgoraz must really like you. i hope he wins and you two are together". wtf? even my mother has made comments that amongst my family, they are taking guesses about who i end up with.

right now, all i want to do is have fun. that might involve messing around with various people. that might involve taking random trips to alaska. that might involve not looking for a job and going out for fancy lunches with friends. that might involve going to punk folk rock shows mc'ed my the (former? i think the band broke up...) singer for chumbawamba. that might involve playing pub trivia as the only girl on the guys night out team (i have a firm handshake, so i can stay according to my one friend).

privately, i am also talking lots to unglued. talking lots to vgoraz and a few other people i trust. working thru a range of emotions and trying to sort out what is going on. right now, unglued and i are getting along great. but we both realize the distance is part of why we are getting along so well.

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Click to expand...

~Derek Walcott

May 30th is a day that is important to me, depending on what I accept as important. It's the date of a girl's birthday. She was another piece of my life. Meeting her taught me things. Made me believe more what I had doubted, in the past. Not that I don't still doubt, perhaps even more than before, but as well, I potentially have less. I expanded with her. I condensed. I don't know how to say it.

But May 30th is her birthday. And, I was sort of looking for something special to happen. Had my eyes and ears on.

The one thing so far, I guess, that could be, but very well might not be, but made me think anyways, was a girl told me she won't be signing her name "like that" for much longer- as that last name, that she signed with tonight. I am a courier, and this was at a nursing home, where I deliver meds. The nurse (girl) just got married, and her name is Hart (just not legally, yet, I guess). She flaunted her ring to me. "Hart" jumped out, coming as the first new name, or calling attention to a name.

One year after I met this girl, on the day I might have considered her gone, the year before, I suffered what I thought was a heart attack, which I went to the hospital for.

One year after that, I took my first order of the day (which fell one day after, but I made sure I did nothing the day before, the exact anniversary, to avoid another "heart attack"- haha) to a family with the name "Hart", working a pizza delivery job.

Another year came up, and on the same day, my grandmother died. I ate beef liver the night before her funeral, and I didn't know I was allergic to it. I had very bad chest pain during the funeral. I thought I might just die. Like another heart attack.

Exactly one year later, my mom retired, from work.

The girl relates to my mom. I also saw some reflection of my grandmother. Some. Of course, we all reflect. We are all like each other, in ways, and different in ways.

But anyways, I associate her with heart. And "Hart", although not the same, sounds the same.

It's time to pay me for the time vortex.

I was not right about what I thought he said - it was that he thought I would be a good candidate for it if I did those things I have to do. He also probably isn't responsible for choosing by himself. All I think he could do is recommend me. Maybe he would have some influence, I don't know.

Disappointed about my prospects in regards to that project but the other things are good. I also probably don't have to worry about fucking things up since there is probably nothing to fuck up.

My mother and I are moving to Arkansas. There is already too little space in this house as it is, especially with my brother being here and my raccoon needing his own room. My mom had earlier tried to get me to rent a trailor house from a friend of hers because she knew I wanted to move out of town. I wasn't going to waste the money because she would have had to help me pay my bills. That is not a problem now. Two full time workers to take care of this house + my dad moving back here with his money will make this arrangement possible - my mom and I will be able to pool our income to pay for the new place.

My niece will have no excuse to go back on her word since she has a place to take her son away from that man and she sounds sincere and plans to return to college. The man doesn't work so he does nothing to support her. It doesn't seem like there is any reason for her to go back to him. I guess I'll have to wait and see. If she doesn't keep her word and the baby starts getting hurt all the time again, I think I'll have to do something if nobody else wants to do anything. Nobody wants to cause trouble for my niece or anything but you can't let something like this happen. I would discuss it with my mom first to see if she could do something and just in case something is done like right then.

If this arrangement doesn't stop what clearly seems like child abuse to everyone in the family, would it be wrong for me to report these suspicions on my own if everyone else is just hoping the problem will go away but not doing anything? I really don't know for sure. I could report it anonymously. I hope it won't even come to that.

I am not moving just for my niece, the move was already under consideration and will later become necessary for a great student research project that I was somehow given a chance at - I can't believe that I am getting this chance. I didn't think I had a chance when I heard about it last fall and that was before I dropped two semesters in a row. It sounds like I will get it for sure as long as I don't fuck things up. I have some classes I must take and get grades of at least a B in and some training on how to do what I'll be doing. The area where this research is being done is in several locations around the TX AR OK border. I also get paid. I will most likely not start on the actual research (and getting paid) until the Spring 2015 because I won't be ready in time to join for spring 2014 and they only bring new students in during spring. There are undergrad and grad students working together and it is a multi-year study. I guess maybe I was chosen because it was clear that I really wanted it. It probably helped that I also wrote about the species in question twice before I heard about this project and got perfect grades for both papers - graded by the one who chose me for this.

I will likely screw this up. I just have to wait and see.

This trip report has been compiled from live notes, cleaned up, and is here for everyone's enjoyment and information.

Age: 40
Weight: 185 lbs / 84 kg
Male

4/30/2013

11:10 PM GMT

DOSED: 200mg capsule of 6-APB powder (light tan, powdered with some larger small pebble sized chunks) swallowed.

5/1/2013

0:40 AM GMT

I am in the midst of that nasty comeup. Trying to find a comfortable place to wait it out. But it's a very physical come-up. Pacing, walking around, many trips to the bathroom, to spit, to eliminate...

0:48 AM GMT.

Guys and gals: it's just like shrooms. You get that nauseated feeling (every time) and then you're going to want to spit spit spit... And then you get that violent retch, for me, always about an hour and a half to two hours afterward. Immediately after that retch, (to steal from another guy's post from some other article) "the buzz finds the groove."

And now it has. And the nausea fades, and as it does the nystagmus begins. The jaw movement. The tongue lashing. lol

As I lay on the bed, under the covers, I find myself "swimming" as I move my arms in a breast stroke. The feeling of my skin on the clean linens is wonderful.

1:02 AM GMT.

Before I forget, I want to point out that through the entire come up, there is this bile that builds in the back of the mouth, near the throat. It must be cleared. Also, I find that I cannot stand light, and even the brightness of the computer monitor before me is quite aggravating.

For whatever reason, I notice a unique body odor after using this chemical. I think it's from my body forcing out toxins (mostly acids). I think I may jump in the shower for a second time. Especially since it marks exactly 2 hours since I swallowed the capsule.

1:44 AM GMT.

The bath was therapeutic. Warm water. No soap. Gently treat the body's largest organ to a very neutral and relaxing tonic.

Then laying on the bed, face down. Breathing deep. Imagining a gentle massage. Letting everything go. Breathe in. Breathe out. Healthy. Got the crazy tracers going on and the rainbow diffusion off of bright objects.

I have never used DMT, but from the experience reports, I have come to call this stage of the 6-APB trip the "DMT stage." Visuals are pronounced. Eyes want to close, really, maybe to get away from the visuals? My headspace is much like our friend Tryptamine Bunny always advises: "let go and simply experience."

I think that if I were in the massage industry, I would market serotonin & dopamine massage.

I should note that as of yet, I have hardly noticed any sexual stimulation at all. Bloodflow is amazing right now, too.

1:57 AM GMT.

So calm a sense of peace. Imagined someone running their fingers gently across the skin on my face, combing through my hair. (OH boy, yellow really stands out right now.)

Satriani's "Echo" is playing, and I can't think of a more beautiful song to exemplify how I am feeling right now. Or maybe it's the song that is making me feel this way?

OK now it's time for visualizations on media player to go along with the music.

2:06 AM GMT.

Now I'm getting sexually stimulated. And right with that notion, I realize that I'm starting to sweat, and that it is hard for me to follow the words that I am currently typing.

2:21 AM GMT.

Extrasensory on sound, extrasensory on touch. Extrasensory on light, too, as I pointed out earlier. I wonder how taste is affected? I don't feel like eating anything though. My jaw, when in that middle state of being relaxed and tensed, wants to quiver--but now that I am thinking about it, it has stopped completely.

I wonder what my body temp is. Feels like it must be high high high. My thermometer must be broken. Reading 94.1 F at the left ear canal, and the right canal won't read at all.

Interestingly enough, my right eye is dilated to infinitum, my left looks pretty normal. Well it did. Now it's dilated like crazy.

2:45 AM GMT.

Oh my God. Here's what it comes down to: we're all running around, sweating, dancing, reading, testing, resting, fuzzy and sharp, and my urine glows with yellow B-vitamin goodness. and attention!! There is work to be done!

3:06 AM GMT.

Music's ended. Silence. No visualizations. Just the sound of the computer's cooling fans whizzing away, and the sound of terrible wind in my ears. I am absolutely spaced out. I'm on the other side, but having passed through, I am changed. Everything imploded then exploded and like a teardrop in reverse.

So I looked that particular line up, because I liked it. And I found this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bt7K5NGeTEo And it's pretty cool. I guess.

I was really cold, so I had turned up the thermostat, and turned on the furnace. But, only a few minutes later, and I'm sweating again.

3:38 AM GMT.

Yeah so it's only been like twenty minutes since I last wrote this stuff, and I'm in a totally different headspace now than I was a minute ago.

OK, here's why:

DOSED: approx (did not weigh) 50mg 5-MEO-DALT powder, smoked
DOSED: approx (did not weigh) 350mg Cannabis, (OG Kush) smoked

Ten minutes ago I smoked some marijuana mixed with 5-meo-dalt. It brought me to attention, albeit I'm kind of, at least physically, wonked out. Mentally, I feel sharp. So long as I can keep a connection between my mind and my fingers, then communication will continue. Soon enough, all that remains is the sound of an echo, a decay, that never really ever stops.

3:47 AM GMT.

I had a fantastic idea, but sometime, while pondering all factors, it became a part of the chaos, with a purpose, but not of its own choosing. I accept PayPal donations, if any of you wish to support this new idea, visit

3:58 AM GMT.

I've been thinking about that, and I swear that I typed that yesterday. OK, this is a fantastic combination. My face is locked in a half-snarl half-smile, but inside I'm as cheerful as a leprechaun in the land of one million rainbows, and to think that I invented all of it. Even you.

4:09 AM GMT.

Very LSD-like right now. Sinus pressure changes, back pain, skeletal pain in general. colors...so rich the colors I want to spell them colours. They are so rich and vibrant and multi-hue-onic. Man. Oh, right before I started typing these words I took another hit from the mix. The 5-meo-dalt must be effective submilligram, coz there couldn't have been much left after the first time, but... woah. Sure enough.

4:28 AM GMT.

I came to the crushing realization, the fact upon which all other facts depend: it's a chemical love machine, and you can drive it.

4:36 AM GMT.

Or crash it if you aren't careful.... yikes! (after third hit from the mix)

4:41 AM GMT.

I've been listening to that Massive Attack Teardrop in Reverse and watching that video. I had it paused and it was morphing before my eyes, and I was able to see it all for what it is.

4:45 AM GMT.

Ahhh! Nyet! Stop clenching your jaw, damn it! My neck and back are in serious need of relaxation. If I wasn't out of Etizolam I would definitely take one right now.

WOW. The original version... I was spellbound that someone was tripping harder than me that day. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7K72X4eo_s

5:24 AM GMT.

THC coming on in, as with some beers. And let me tell you. These are some of the coolest visuals, too. I can pretty much do anything, and it's just so cool.

5:58 AM GMT.

: I laugh as I swallow tasty morsels of marinated pork : I resolve to be the sheriff of this new land, and I will begin by LEAVING YOU ALONE : This new land of Abanado. :

Just Mad Genius, Is All

Put on Django (after having got the idea somewhere on Bluelight some time ago), that great 1966 western that's just bad ass. Fell asleep about halfway through. Four hours later and I'm feeling somewhat good. A little groggy. Coffee and a cap of ethylphenidate and I'll be ready for work.