Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Always take the advice given to you by a homeless girl

I don't have any fun on this blog anymore.  I hate all the new readers I have. They seem to blame me for all the reports I do on teen girls.

I guess what they don't understand is that I am not the mainstream press, and as such I am not contractually bound to deliver the news in the bland "fact friendly" way they are used to.

If you want facts and shit, then go to CNBC or something.

What I have to give to you is my opinion.  And lucky for you my opinion is interesting and awesome and full of a funky beats.

Twitter is the only place I seem to get any good attention anymore.  Lucky for me Twitter exists as it turns out you morons are not capable of producing full length diatribes, or comments on this blog anymore.  The only thing you are good at is talking (if that talking can be kept under 3 sentences.)

Yesterday, I tweeted I was hitting on a couple of homeless girls at Burger King.  One of my twitter pals wrote that, "There is nothing sadder than when one of your friends is hitting on the homeless."

Of course my Twitter friend is wrong.  There is something sadder than hitting on the cute homeless girl at Burger King.  Getting shot down by a couple of cute homeless girls.

Like these bitches think they have better options.

I mean I could tell these girls had not eaten that day.  I was going to buy them 2  double cheeseburgers and a soft drink of their choice.  I was gonna call in sick and we were going to head back to my place with a couple of e pills for them and a bottle of k-y jelly for me.

I promised them I was not going to get naked.  I promised them I was not interested in video taping this shit. I just wanted to see what was going to go down.  I really thought we'd have some fun and they could go back to not showering and not wearing deodorant tomorrow.

But all was lost as some black guy who must have been their pimp came to pick them up.

They did not seem happy (or for that matter too unhappy) about their fate.  They just accepted what was about to come to them, and for that I kind of think of these girls as Mother Teresa or something.

I think these girls have access to some kind of deep emotional truths that I need to get a hold of so that I can understand how to let go of all this "worldly" shit and trust that my new found "acceptance" is not really just "resignation."

Not that I would have a problem with giving up.  I just don't know if I could ever commit to it like my homeless gurus.

Join me on fucking Twitter you fucking fuck faces.  You get access to my real life too!  Woooo! Scary good shit!

Monday, March 29, 2010

I'm too busy to be the UnaBomber?

I am too busy to be the Unabomber.  I may not be busy in the conventional sense.  But I got things I do.

All this "not being busy" also keeps me from posting on the blog.

Though what really prevents me from writing is the fact that I get only 37 hits a day on my blog.  And for me blogging is all about how many lives I can change.  The only reason I write is to see how many hearts I can touch.  That's what it's about for me.  That's why I do this thing called blogging.

I'm out for your soul.

And the truth is I have not written anything over the last few months that would get your attention.  I have done nothing to get you here and keep you interested.

I guess it happened around the same time I gave up my ambition to be a serial killer.

Maybe I never had the heart for being a serial killer.  Even though I got real angry just the other day after I got another summons to go to court so that some credit card company could take money out of my paycheck.  Another 25% of my income down the drain.

300 dollars is what I owe Capital One credit card.

Only they are suing me for 2,0000.  Interest and shit they say.  Personally, I find that number to be unconscionable.  That's like 700% interest.  You could get shot in the biblical days for trying that shit.  And maybe the folks down there at collections deserve it.

I mean I understand why people flip their lids and go after  someone tangible.

I am thinking here of the Unabomber.

People say he is crazy.  But I don't know about that.  The guy wrote a long manifesto and most of it seemed plausible to me.  I mean, I don't agree with almost any of what he had to say, but it was not loopy. He did not sound crazy.  He just had some basic ideas and took them to their logical conclusions.

I didn't like some of his basic assumptions, and I don't think you would either.  So of course his conclusions come off sounding bizarre. But again, I say, not crazy.  A lot of his ideas just sound like putting mayo on your french fries.  Something that sounds okay to foreigners (fucking Canadians) but not to us.

You might protest that I had forgotten about his blowing people up and shit.

I did not.

I understand why he did what he did.  Sometimes you have to get involved.  You have to what you can do.  And that means that as an individual you come to understand that most likely will not be able to take the system down.

But what you can do is make it personal to all those involved.  The rule of the jungle is: "if you fuck with me, I can fuck with you."

If you are the kind of jerk that feels it is okay to rob from the poor and garnish half of their income from them all the while your company is raping tax payers and not paying income tax- then maybe a car bomb or your daughter getting raped is something that you have to come to expect.

I'm not saying that I would rape the perfect lips of your 8 year old daughter.  I'm just saying that there are folks out there there that will.

There is no SYSTEM out there to be mad at.  

There is only you and me.  And if you are fucking with me.  Well.... What do you expect?  Do you expect that because the rest of the world is too stupid, or cowardly to stop you that I am just going to sit back and let you fuck with me?

I think not.

If it were not for my search for Bliss.  For Ecstasy.

It's a good thing for you I have it.

I have no idea what I would do if it weren't for the the fact that ecstasy is so great.  I would have no idea what I would do if I did not have something to look forward to.

Without ecstasy I would blow a gasket.  I would follow your collection working ass home and rape your daughter.   I am sure of that.  I would infect her with AIDS.  I would rip open her anus and vagina with a meat cutter.

I would.

But I am not going to.

I feel good.  Of course they have not garnished my check yet.  There is some procedure that I don't understand that has to happen and then they get to have my money.

As you know I have some financial pressure already.

I have a roommate who has not worked for more that a year.  I have summer coming and the A/C bill will treble in cost.  I have my student loan garnishment taking 15% of my check and now I have some worthless evil credit card company raping my ass for 7 times what I borrowed from them.

In a few months I will be so broke.  I will be out of money for my E.  And things could get different.

Then I will have to take precautions. I will have to learn things.  I will need to pick my victims.

What I am saying is that my choice to pick on you as an individual is righteous.  I will try and walk you through the logic a little better.

(I just wanted to get this next off my chest.)

You know in movies when the victim looks up at the serial killer with these unknowing eyes and protests her death.


"Why are you doing this to me?"

I know what she is thinking.  She is trying to "humanize" herself to her captor.  But let me tell you something.  Let me tell you why this never works.

It never works because I am killing you for a fucking reason, you stupid bitch.  And when you look at me with those wide eyes demanding an explanation for your situation I get even more pissed off at you.

"How fucking dare you! You fucking cunt!"

You don't know why this is happening?  Maybe because you are taking my livelihood away from me.  Maybe I see you eye me on the street and turn your fucking nose at me.  Maybe you sold my Momma some bad weed.  It don't matter really what the fuck you did.  Just know you did something and that trying to fucking apologize this late in the game is a bit ridiculous.

I am one patient motherfucking man.  But if I am at the point that I gotta bitch slap your 3 year old in the corner, and rape your teen daughter, and cut up your old man.  Then we are past talking when I get to your stupid fucking ass.

If you work for Captial One, or the lawyers, or collections, or the courts, and your daughter gets raped.  Well. Maybe you had it coming.  Not by me of course.  I would never do that.  I have my ecstasy.  I am coolio.  But you need to understand something.  It is YOU CAPITAL ONE who are creating more UNAbombers.

Good luck with that.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Bliss. It's what's good for you.

Where am I?

I am sitting at the bus stop next to you.

What are you doing?

You are sitting with you boyfriend.  You seem to be oblivious to the  whole fucking world.  I don't know what kind of drugs you guys are on, but they seem good.

You eyes are filled with moisture.  You wipe the sleep out of each other's eyes.  You sit with your legs over your boyfriend.  You have not glanced up from one another.  

You have not washed your hair this week. 

Neither of you smell bad in the early March heat of Arizona. The wind is swirling from  behind you.  It makes it way over to me and all I smell is tobacco.  I smell meatloaf.  I smell Aqua Net.

Who the fuck uses Aqua Net nowadays?

Both of you have adult acne.  Though I bet neither of you did 3 years ago.   I am thinking that's what Meth does for you. 

Two fingers press down and the head explodes and you both giggle, and one of you wipes the blood away using a white t-shirt that you forget to wash.

Later you put on that shirt and walk out the door.  Because you are oblivious.

I want the oblivion.

I did not always.

I wanted to be in the world.  I wanted to be conscious of every single moment.  I would smack myself in the face every time I walked into a kitchen and opened the refrigerator door without knowing why I was standing there.  

I used to run to the used book store to buy up all the paperback editions of Sigmund Freud I could find.  I wanted to make all the unconscious...conscious.  

I was a fool.

Now I want to be like you.  I want to sit at on a bus stop bench and pick at my hair like some kind of gorilla in the midst.

I see the connection you have.  I see the total absorption of your thoughts and I am resentful of my life.  I am resentful of the talking man in the back of my head.  The narrator that won't shut the fuck up.

A few years ago. I would not have understood.  

Understanding has more to do with acceptance that anything else.    Let me tell you that.  You don't know shit if you can't accept it.

I accept it all now.  I really do.

I can look in the eyes of one of those Jehovah's Witnesses and accept what I never got before.  

The need to belong.  The need for connection.  I never had that kind of thing.  Maybe I was more like a serial killer than a normal human being.

I learned something from you.  I learned how fucking needy humans are.  I thank you for that.  

Well.  What I mean is that you are the personification of need.  You materialize the need humans have for belonging right out in the open.  That's why all the middle class people on the way to pick up the prescriptions are bugged out by you.

You remind them how truly needy they are.  

They fucking hate you.  They look over at you and clutch their purses, and they clutch their crosses, and pop open their bottles of Zoloft.  

You don't even need to talk to each other.  Do you?

That's fucking great!

I wished I could be just like that.  All the time.  I mean it.

I want the bliss man.  I want it bad. 

Once you get the bliss in your life you want it all time.  Whenever it is gone from your life, you want it back.  Bad.  

It's all your gonna think about.  So why not?  Find someone and go for it.  That's what I think.

What's the downside?

Dirty shirts worn in public.  

Did you notice any of the stares behind your back.  Did you care that you waited for a bus that came and went without you?  Where were you going anyway?  Everything you need is right in front of you.  

You put your hands together and make spider webs.  You run your hands down his forearm.  You take your thumb and pinky finger and caress his palm.  You give him a gentle kiss on the lips.

His 3 day old stubble burns across your lips.  There are shivers running down your spine.  Your brain is ticked on the inside.  You kick off your flip flops.  Some vagrant eyes them greedily.  You don't mind.  Maybe the vagrant needs your flip flops more that you.

You don't need anything.  Blue tracers shoot out of your eyes.  The street noise is like a soothing, calm brook.  The sirens are rocking you to sleep. 

I'm going to stop watching you.  I am going to get on my bus.  I am going to stop hoping for a druggie girl friend.  I am going to put my apron on.  I am going to tie it in the back and punch at the time clock and I won't remember you.  I won't remember the short shorts.  I won't remember the the tight white strapless tube top that you let fall half way down.

Don't look at me.

Don't look over at me.

I don't want to see anything else. I don't want to see your eyes.  I can't bear it. I can't face those blue eyes. I don't need the understanding you want to give me.  

You eyes are huge.  Bigger than softballs.  Huge pupils swallow me in.  So moist.  So wet.  The whites of your eyes are so wet and  pure.  So beautiful.  They say hello.  They are attached to such a fantastic smile.  All your teeth still.  The lines of your face creep up and bring forth such a pure smile from your soul.  

For a second I have your attention.  Not just your attention, But your ATTENTION.  

I am inside the well.  
I am in your arms.  
I am beckoned into you.
I am received.
I am loved.

And then you turn away.  Or maybe I did.  There are puffs of black smoke.  There are people all around me.  They are getting in my way.  They are stepping over my blue backpack.  They are getting on the bus.  They are not looking at me.  They avoid the backpack without seeing it.  They are not looking at me. They don't know I am here.  They know I am here. But they don't know I am here.

I pick up my blue backpack.  I shove my i-pod down the front zipper.  I climb up the stair inside the bus, but before the driver slams the door I look back.

"He cannot cut us off."  Your eyes tell me.  

They are still there. The black pupils.  So wide.  So patient.  So sad for me.   So blissfully happy for me.   

"You can come back anytime."  She whispers to me.

The bus door slams between us.   I fall into my seat. The bus jerks forward and she moves away. I stare into her dark black eyes until I see nothing.  

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

I'm so bored I feel like drinking...

Only drinking alone is the kind of thing you should never do.  Drinking alone is the kind of thing that only sounds fun until you do it.

Drinking alone is never fun.

All that ever happens when you drink is that you wake up feeling groggy and muffle headed.  You wake up to another giant feeling of regret.  Like that time you grabbed your step-sister's boobies in the swimming pool while your step mother watched on.

You were certain that you step sister enjoyed the boob grab. Her nipples were big, and spongy pink in her see-through white bikini.

Step-mother was casually stroking herself on the lawn chair.  Her one piece swim suit carefully rolled down to expose her white shoulders to the hot pink sun.

Step-mommy got all indignant later that afternoon.  Calling an emergency family meeting.  Calling you out in between bites of pound cake in front of grandma, poppa, and your two brothers.

Don't look over at Step sister.

All you gonna get is step sister's shoulders shrugging back at you.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Think of your own titles. I'm sick of doing all the thinking for you.

I'm reading another book by Douglas Coupland.  In the book the characters list off a characteristics that they think makes them unique.

Like one of the characters in the book is a human lie detector.  Another character likes to make sock puppets.  It seems making sock puppets is the only way he feels safe enough to talk in public.

I'm not like that.  I don't have any special abilities.  I don't make sock puppets.  I don't collect boxes of masking tape in my van and run around asking 6 year old girls to help me find my lost puppy.

I don't have anything that makes me any different from you.

The protector mommy in you is probably crying out that, "we all have some ability, some trick that we can do."

But you are wrong.  I cannot sing, juggle, remember poetry off the top of my head, or even add simple numbers in my head.

I have no talents or abilities to speak of.

Maybe that's my talent.  My lack of really having any trick whatsoever.  I mean if you were to describe me using some short cut like, "He has a collection of 67 battle axes from the 13th century" your mind would stumble around dazed like it just landed from a 12 story building.

Good thing your brain lives in a cartoon world where it gets to be a superhero with superpowers like jumping from 12 story building and landing safely on the ground (being just a little confused.)

Your brain may be rubber, but it never stops bouncing around and it just might be safe from all the bumps and bruises the world is throwing at it.

I don't want to change the subject, but I don't remember how I got on this one in the first place.

Hold on.  

I just coughed.

Something tastes warm, like salty beach water in my mouth.

I better spit that out.

There.  I feel better.  I had to cough again when I was in the bathroom.   I coughed and spat another yellow, milky, mucus filled mouthful into the sink.  

My lungs are filling better already.

We should talk about something else.

You should note that I am not fishing for a compliment here.

The reason I tell you I have no talents is not for you to rush to my defense and tell me what a great blogger I am.  


What I am talking about is the kind of thing that is not really talent per/se.  It's the kind of thing people do to amuse other people at cocktail parties.

I don't know anyone who goes to cocktail parties and performs tricks, but I saw that kind of thing on the Dick Van Dyke show when I was a kid at it seems to me to apply to the world of adults or to the world of humans when you guys get together and get bored with each other's company and start doing stupid human tricks.

What I am saying is that I don't have any stupid human tricks.  

I guess I could have come right out and just said that, but it felt better to go this route. 

Sorry, if that bothered you.

Actually I am not that sorry.  

But you probably already knew that.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Part 1 of the St. Patrick Holiday Re-cap (edited)

I can still smell the cigarettes on me.  The stale ash is buried in my nasal passages like a band of Hobgoblins making camp from my Dungeons & Dragons playing days. (The above link is an advertisement)

My plan to celebrate St. Patrick's Day was to go downtown to Mill in Tempe and walk around downtown on E.  I wanted to visit as many different bars as I could.  That way I could check out the vibe of each place and see which one was the best bar to chill at whenever I used.

But instead I ended up at the Yucca Tap Room all because Emma asked me to meet her at a bar after work.  

When a 65 year old woman asks you out to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day you feel like it is the right thing to do, since you have no idea if she will still be around next year to go drinking with.

I love hanging out with Emma. She has such a young soul.  Whenever we are together she tells me stories form her "whoring around period."  I love listening to Emma remissness about her glory days.

I got off work that night earlier than everyone else.  Emma and the most of the rest of the gang I hang out with from work did not get off work till after midnight. 


I got dressed to go out at work.  I chose the Khaki pants I wear at work, because they look like fake Dickie's, and I wanted to try and pass for hipster.  I wore a black t-shirt that told the world I was "Irish for the Day."  The shirt and pants went well with my new, fake, black converse shoes.

I was feeling good about myself because I had received a number of compliments about the shirt.  not only that but I was feeling skinny because I had skipped lunch and dinner that day.  I don't eat before I drink anymore, because otherwise my liver is too strong and I don't feel the buzz anymore.

After getting dressed in  a stinky public restroom, I walked over to the Yucca Tap Room.  The Yucca Tap is an institution in Tempe and is one of the few remaining dive bars around.  The Tap is just a regular neighborhood bar, but it has worked fiercely to retain its working class vibe despite the influx of hipsters from ASU.

In a nod to the growing influence of the hipsters and the affluent the owners have built a new trendier, upscale bar right next to the Yucca.

I'd never been inside the new bar but was curious, so I took a chance and went inside.      

Once inside the bar I had a nice conversation with the first guy I sat down next to.  He worked promoting Left Foot Beer, a small brewery in Oregon.  We talked about what makes beer special and he gave me a short version of the speech he gives to all his customers.  

He told me how I probably grew up drinking Coors Light and I was all of a sudden interested in trying something new because I could afford it.

The guy sounded a bit like he was reading off a script when he talked, but he still managed to seem genuine.  A neat trick for a guy in his business. 

I did not tell him I had been drinking for 25 years, and had been trying small pubs and different beers since I was in my mid twenties. Not did I tell him how I hated Coors Light (that is until they made those cool temperature activated cans.  Sorry, but I really like knowing my beer is cold.) 

I drank non-mainstream beer from around the time the at-home brewing phenomenon took off.  I was also pretty familiar with beer (mostly because I had friends who had made their own beer.)   over the years my friends have forced me to try hundreds of different kinds of beers.

But I soaked up his wisdom and played the fool for him because it made him happy.  

While he talked I waited for one of my coworkers to get off work.  On my way to the Yucca my friend Mari surprised me by saying she wanted to get together for a beer after she got off work.  She told me she got off work at 9 and I should expect her around then.

I glanced down at my cell to check the time and to the chagrin of my Left Foot sales guy  I ordered a second Four Peaks beer.

"Loyalty to a hometown brew is nice, but other places make a fine beer."  He cautioned me.

"I know you FEEL like you have a connection to a hometown pub, but really it's just that."  He looked over at me smugly.

I thanked him for the psychological insight and accepted his offer of a shot of stout that was made by his company.

He was right they made a nice stout, "But you have to be a  stout person to enjoy a stout."  He agreed with my comment and later in the night before he left he bought me a beer that he told me I was guaranteed to love, "Since I like Kilt Lifter so much."

A female coworker of his offered me a free t-shirt.  Pumped, I gladly accepted the free offering.  It felt like years since the last time I got a free t-shirt,or free glass on St. Patty's Day.

I was excited until I looked down at the tag and noticed 2x Large.  

"Am I fat looking?"

I shrugged off the feeling assuming it was the last shirt she had and that all the hipsters in the bar room wanted extra small shirts to go with their skinny jeans.

At 9 o'clock I was wondering where Mari was.  Like a gypsy with ESP she sent a text telling me she was on her way.

"First condition." She texted me. "Is that you have to buy me a drink."

"You bet!"  I answered her text back quickly, looking forward to talking to some oneI actually knew.  

Not that I did not enjoy talking to the people at the bar.  I ordered food from the bartender after the guy next to me overheard me talking to myself about getting drunk fast because I had not eaten much.

He suggested the pizza. He said it was a lot like Red Devil's Pizza, a pizza I really enjoy.

I scarfed the pizza down as soon as it came.  The crust was thin and chewy.  The sauce was sweet and ripe.  The cheese tasty.  My only complaint would be that half the crust was soft.  I assume from sitting under a hot lamp for too long.

When Mari arrived we gave each other a quick hug.  She sat down next to me wearing the exact same shirt I had on.  We both bought the shirt at work that day for $2.43.  

We made a joke about being twins and Mari took photos of us highlighting our shirt to post later on her Facebook profile.

Mari placed her phone down on the table just as the bartender approached us.  He asked her what she'd like and she yelled over the jukebox that she'd like "a long island." 

I shot a look at the bartender and told him to "put it on my tab."  The bartender gave me an admiring look and whispered "smart move."

Mari and I laughed off the bartenders suggestion and we got to talking about twitter.  I told her how to access her account and how to follow my twitter on her phone.  I then began to follow her tweets on my phone as well.

I am a big phone geek now so we talked about twitter and her cell phone for a good 30 minutes, trying out new things on her phone and twittering to all of our friends in hopes they would show up.

Mari sipped her Long Island carefully and complained to me that her drink was too strong.  Then she ran outside to answer a phone call from her husband.  She told him she was meeting some friends after work for a quick drink.  I think Mari felt guilty telling her husband that she was meeting "friends"  when they all turned out just to be me.

After Mari returned from her phone call I got a text from Leif saying that he was going to show up around 10.  I decided there was no chance of me getting to Mill Ave. so I decided to excuse myself from Mari and pop my e tablet in the dive bar next door.

Stay tuned for St. Patty's on E.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Hi. Is E my god? A message of hello where I tell you how I am feeling about certain things from Romius T.

This post is in rough draft form for the next few days.

A funny thing about the title of this blog post.

The title of this blog reads like one of the bios from the many Russian women who send me links to their personal ads on Yahoo Personals.

I go to work for in a few minutes, but I wanted to drop off this little note.*

*I will update this blog post over the course of several days.

First an update on the blog.

I got an e-mail the other day from some person offering me a hundred dollars to put an advertisement on my blog.  The ad would be one key word on one blog post and would pay 100 dollars.

Of course if I take the money I am sure I would have to keep the blog open to all readers.  And then I might as well ad Google ads so I can make 3 dollars a month on this site.

But the hundred dollars would buy me a used i-pod.  I could use the i-pod to keep up with all my podcasts and add all my music.

I really want an i-pod so I just might do it.  Though I assume the advertiser is just a scam artist looking to get info about my pay-pal or bank account.  (What fools they are!  I have so little money it will make them sick!)

I'm gonna post something here now about E...

I posted a blog entry about my first "roll" on the Red Dragon a few days ago and deleted it.  I did that because for a while I had my blog listed on my Facebook and family members and friends could find the blog.

I don't want to tell certain people that I have tried E.

I've deleted the link to my blog on Facebook, so I think it is safe to repost the entry.  A word of caution, remember the blog entry was made while tripping i.e. "rolling", but it might be worth something for those interested in trying E out:

The effects of a little red pill called the torch red dragon.

First some background.  Today is March 10th.

All day my face has felt red and warm to the touch.  In addition to a possible temperature, I had a slight headache and some mild fatigue today (that I normally would associate with a lack of sleep.)

I had 4 beers before I took the pill.  My ruddy complexion is even redder today than normal.  My face feels quite warm to the touch.  Almost alarmingly warm.  Though I have had the feeling that I am running a temperature all day long.

Some people think I am a hypochondriac.

I think those folks are wrong.  I plan to buy a digital thermometer to test my convictions and prove the doubters false.

I have a vague feeling that fever is associated with cancer.

I should tell you I had a full dinner before taking the pill.  I had not eaten much all day and was quite hungry after I got off work today.  I had consumed only a small package of crackers that you find in vending machines.

I just felt a tinge of sour aftertaste.  1:36 am and we are 18 minutes into the experiment.

I felt a slight shiver and neural shocks (aka ping pong)immediate to my swallowing of the pill.  This is quite normal and should be viewed as a reaction of my neurotic mind worrying about what I just did.

I have placed a damp towel on my head to alleviate any fear I might have about dying form overheating.  It is my main fear. Though I have another fear that I have taken MDA.  I hope I have not taken MDA as I know it can cause hallucinations.

I should mention I am listening to music.

I should mention that I am not worried and have no actual worries as I type.  Most of the anxiety I felt was before taking the pill and now that I have take the pill I have very little anxiety.  A rather pleasant feeling has taken its place.  Though nothing that I would call "high" or even intense.

Typing is not easy.  I am making a lot more mistakes than I normally do.

Still a bit sleepy.  Yawned a few times.

I drank 4 beers before I took the pill. I am curious about the effects of beer on red pills.

Beginning to feel good. Typing real hard now.  Breathing increased.  Momentary erotic sensations.  Bits of paranoia.  Blood pressure is increasing.  Tiny mini waves of different stuff.

Light headed.

Turned off the music as it bothered me.

Still I feel okay. Nothing terrible.

Nothing too powerful.  Turned off music.

I have to pee.  It will be a small amount.  I have lots of bottled water to drink.  Must remember not to drink too much water as that can kill you too.

I watch after school specials on ABC.

1:53 am

Effects seem to be slowing down. Not much increased sensation. Overall pleasant disposition.  Still misspell 2 out of 3 words that I write.

Text messaging seems easier that typing on a large keyboard.  odd.


I need to poop.

2:02 am

Dark brown poo.  Very nutty.  Caffeinated high.  Faster heartbeat and higher blood pressure is all I can say for sure so far.  Some teeth clenching.  Though more lower body clenching than teeth clenching.  Tightening of calves and thighs.  This is not too unusual for me. Though I am noticing it more.  It is coming to my attention that is.


closed my eyes and felt euphoric and waves moves me around some tingling in erotic sensations

much more intese when my eyes are closed+

Feeling is less intense than with expensive stuff.  This pill costs 10 dollars.  But it is good.  Very strange waves.  I like it!


Slight visual difficulty neck feels very heavy

hard to concentrate on typing
feeling another wave maybe

The Post breaks off at this point and I do not go back to typing.

Now I will talk about the my most recent experience on e.

Last night I bought 2 Mickey Mouse Pills to roll with my gang of (including me 4) e popping pill buddies.

M. took 2 right away.  The rest of us took only one.

I only took one because we were told that mickey was stronger than the red dragon, so we concluded there might be no need to take 2.

Mickey is more intense.  But strangely so.  The experience of e is difficult to describe.  Look on any message board and you will learn that fact from thousands of users on e ecstasy experience boards trying in vain to explain the unexplainable.


I got off work late last night and bought all the paraphernalia associated with a good roll.  Vick's vapor rub, orange juice, rubber gloves, and bottled water.

I spent most of the bus ride home using up the battery on my mobile phone searching for "vapor rub with ecstasy" related websites.

In addition to searching the internet, I was calling and texting the gang because they were having trouble locating pills from our friend the dealer.

The gang had been waiting at our friend house for sometime.  In total they had to wait over 3 hours at his house for the connection to arrive with pills.  This might not seem too terrible, but according to reports from my friends about the house they were trapped in--it was quite an ordeal.

Our friend (the dealer's house) is really a two bedroom apartment in a sketchy part of Tempe.  Between 20 and 30 people share the house with the dealer/friend.

I was told there were 3 or 4 sluts sharing themselves for coke or meth or whatever could get them high.  Most everybody in the apartment was smoking pot.

By far the most disturbing thing I was told about was a 7 year old boy (baby brother to dealer?) who walked around the home as if nothing was wrong.

I was told that not one of the people in the apartment showered anymore.  In fact all of the inhabitants had pretty much given up on even basic grooming habits.

The apartment smelled foul from body odor, stale left over food packages rotted without being placed in the trash.  According to K., "the whole place looked like we were trapped in a drug movie."

In between worried phone calls and anxious text messages
I read several horror stories about consuming too much vapor rub while doing ecstasy.

I informed my comrades of the stories and suggested that they google the information on the home computer at the apartment.  Because the stories concerned me so greatly I added that we ought to, "cut down on our use of vapor rub."

My idea was agreed to in theory, but theory was difficult to put into practice later that night.

Since I had gone "to the trouble of purchasing vapor rub" we ended up making 3 or 4 of the vapor  rub lined gloves.

In addition to the inertia of having the raw materials around, the sobering effect of coming down from E can be quite "depressing*" though decreased by a "huff" of vapor rub, making the appeal to sniffing Vick's difficult to overcome when given the proximity.

*The depressing feeling one gets from coming down (or losing one's peak experience) is a product of the juxtaposition of the previous intoxicated mental state, the current mental state of contentment without euphoria, and conjecture about the upcoming mental state that may provide no euphoria, contentment, bonding, etc.

Comments that were heard about coming down include:

  • I don't want this feeling to ever stop
  • I am worried that this feeling won't last much longer
  • everything is empty

Did consuming Vick's vapor rub have any side effect on any of us?

J. reported her sinuses hurt the next day.  She also said she felt like she might be getting a cold.

K reported a dry throat and later a somewhat burning feeling down her throat.  K admitted that she used the glove too much.

I experienced mild symptoms of backwash taste, minor soar throat.  Some nasal irritation.

I have no report from M.  M declined the use of the "glove" as he said he was having an intense roll without it.  I am uncertain if M ever used the glove during his roll.

I can tell you the effect of Vapor rub on E is real.

Like the rumors suggest Vick's Vapor Rub really adds to the  experience of taking X, though I have no idea why.  Whenever you are coming down you can sniff some vapor rub that you have lined the inside of a plastic glove and you get all ping pong in the brain again.


I have no clue to the safety of inhaling Vicks. I have read that inhaling Vicks might not be the best idea.  Maybe one of my readers can help me on that.

Some added details about the peak experiences each of us felt.


My 2 pill friend said the experience was extreme.  He wanted to vomit a few times and sometimes he would say things over.  and over again.  He'd often repeat to us "I've never felt this before."  He must have said that at least a dozen times.

He said he was glad about the extreme feeling though, because he did not experience the full buzz of E the first time he took it with us.

M. got really buzzed and peaked big.  He insisted that the experience was quite intense and suggested that taking two pill at once would not be appropriate for the girls at all, and perhaps not even for me.


Was quite excited to try E again.  May be prone to being addicted.  Our interaction reinforces the effect of E on us.  Our interaction reinforces our desire to do the drug.  J complained that all K wants to talk about now is E.

K. started to freak out right away after taking her first pill.

She had come over to party in a bad mood after getting in a fight with her mother and was seriously worried about getting caught doing E.

K. stated that she also felt like she did not deserve the good feelings she got from E.

I surmised that K was "fighting" the feeling she was getting from E and that along with her anxiety over her mother this is what caused the beginning of her trip to be somewhat traumatic for her.

Via text message the next day, K, agreed with my assessment.

Some forgotten background information on the gang.  2 females and 2 males.

I should remind everyone that K, J, and M(ale) are 15 to 20 years younger than me.  They are all around the ages 18-23.

This was the second time the gang had taken E.

This is my third time taking E and the fourth pill I have consumed over the past two weeks.  In addition to my current use I have consumed ecstasy a few times in my 20's.  A total of 4 to 6 pills back then.

My experience.

I took a second pill about 3 hours after the first.  I was coming down and felt pretty sober.  The second pill hit me almost right away.  I had trouble swallowing like J and K complained about during the first pill.  I got a bit anxious immediately after taking  pill number 2.

Unlike some reports about E. At times I felt anxiety, possible deep sadness, and quick fleeting moments of anger.  I usually took these extreme mood sensations as artificial and as a product of my brains reaction to the pill.  I tried not to react to the powerful signals my brain sent me when I got annoyed at something.

For instance when M wanted to call a friend on the phone I got annoyed.  e users do not like the vibe of a setting to change.  I did not want "the energy or focus to be off the group."  M attempted a few phone calls, but all failed as he was calling after 3 am.

My reaction was quick and resentful anger.  I tempered it by knowing that M did not intend to disrespect the group feeling.  But I had to remind myself that the hostility I felt was based on the amphetamine nature of the pill we were taking.

I talked to K and told her I would prefer if M did not talk on the phone.  I am J. also encouraged M not to make calls.  Though our attempts did not sound angry. They sounded more like whining to my ears.  Though I can say I was upset and actively voiced my opposition with an altered voice pattern to disguise my true feelings.

I think one can see that since I am more practiced at E, I can navigate the changing dispositions one can encounter better than the girls.

My guess is that they encounter  one of these "almost random" fluctuations and feel themselves unable to either discern their true mental state from the drug induced one, or they are overpowered by the compulsion to act on the feelings.

I should add that these moment were quite fleeting. I did have an intense bout of almost sadness.  Had I given in to such thoughts I would have cried for half an hour too.  The vast majority of time on E is one of mild contentment and peace.  Bouts of stirring euphoria.  Amazement.  Connection.  Wonderment.  Etc.

Just a quick recap for the slow attention spanned:

J. never got a peak experience (with either pill.)

I had a mild peak with the first pill.  I would describe more about the fist pill but most of my thoughts were consumed watching over K and studying M for trouble.

Eventually both settled down, but I believe my concern for them may have gotten in the way of a true peak experience.

The rest of the gang

A very nice intense (though too short lived) peak with the second pill.

My peak experience was somewhat erotic at times.  Though mostly as usual with E, you are not intercourse interested and the feelings you feel are not sexual per se.  Again very difficult to tell you, or describe unless you have had the experience. I would just say that I have more erotic sensations (mostly a tingling in the groin) than others have (or will admit to.)

I wanted to save my second pill for St. Patty's Day.  I wanted to go out on the town rolling.  I thought the addition of new sites and people would add to the experience.

I could not resist keeping the feeling going though,.

Second pill effects.

We laughed more that the first pill.  We did not talk or laugh on the first pill at all.  Second one had all kinds of visual tricks. M's head looked like it was disappear.  That made us laugh like kids and we demanded to see more.  We prefaced all our q's with "Is it okay that we want you to do that again?"

The response to any question (other than turning the lights on) was always "of course."

Lights brought us back to reality.  We wanted it dark.  Also for the first time we enjoyed music on the second pill.  We turned on radiohead.  The mus was turned down low and very soft,  I sang.

The effects lasted an hour to hour and 30 minutes.  Felt calm and happy, content for another 1.5 hours.

Whispered things to K.  Wanted to connect with her.  Wanted to be with her on E all the time.  Wanted the feeling to last forever.  Told her I loved her a hundred times.  She told me back.  It sounded like she really meant it.  We looked in each others eyes.  We danced.  We span around like kids do to get dizzy.  It was fun and brought out the intensity of the drug that we crave.

Next day I slept till 1:30  Feel a bit jittery but nothing like the second time I took it.

I may get another pill for ST. Patty.  But I may not.  We will do pills again on K.'s B-day.*

*I purchased 5 more pills today at work after feeling depressed and addicted.  Once I got home the effect of the NEED calmed and I declined my earlier hope to take a pill tonight.  I may decline again the use even on Patty's day.  I will have to discuss the NEED with you.  Need deserves a large treatment to itself.

Good bye for now,

Romius T.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Is E is the last word?

I'm trying something new.

I'm gonna try out the more conversational style I was telling you about as the normal mode of conversation I have here with you.

I don't know how much longer I am going to make this blog public.

I have come to that partial decision as a result of re-reading some of the things I have posted here in the past.

I know I give you guys shit about how I have only 5 readers and how this blog never grows despite the fact that I have been blogging for more that 6 years.  I shouldn't have done so.  After reading my backlog I know why I am not popular.

My ability is not going to make this blog popular/ (or good.)  So, I feel the least I can do is save myself some dignity and  hide this blog from the general public.

(When) I decide to take this blog private I will issue a few invites to the readership.

If you really like this blog (there are about 10 of you) you will get an invite.

On the other hand,  if you just want to keep up with this blog because you are bored I would let you.  I don't plan on denying any "would-be" reader.

The reason I am going private is that I am not a good writer.

Also.  I may never be.

That reality does not sway me from writing.  I love writing.  I like expressing myself.  And some small part of me actually wants to share some of the shit I come up with an audience.

I am not a megalomaniac, so I don't need lots of affection or attention.  Not that I would mind it.  I am just like anyone else with that kind of thing.

I am not some kind of super hero.  

I know my life is not like my day dreams.  That's okay.  My day dreams are almost too good.  I could live in them for 98% of the day.  And I do, so it's not like I really need any blog to keep me going.

I think I have allowed too much of my self esteem to come from the 3 comments that I get from you guys.

I need to do something about that.

(But I am not sure what that is.)

Turn my life around?

I don't have enough internal resources to do much about turning my life around.  So I am not too sure that I can do.

I want to get better at writing.

I need to take a hard look at my writing and practice and re-write most of what I have written on this blog in order to get a better handle on my strengths and weaknesses.

I want to reiterate something.

I know this writing "thing" is not going anywhere.  I have no delusions.

It does make me sad though.

I wished I could communicate some of the things I feel to you a lot better than I do.  I'd like you to feel what I feel.  I want you to know what I know.

But it's not working.   And you what I say is true.

Time should teach us lessons.

But it never does for me.

Mostly time just adds up.  Piling up, year after year, like dirty laundry.

(The thing about laundry is that there is a simple solution.)

Wash it!

Maybe I am just drunk.

Maybe I am just feeling vulnerable, and I need a connection with someone.

It's hard for me to admit that I need someone.  I'm not built to admit things like that.

I was built to be alone.

So I am okay with being alone.

If you visit this site a lot, I'm sorry.  I feel like I've let you down.

I know there are a few of you guys who visit hundreds of times without ever leaving a comment, or anything.

I think you saw something here that may not actually be here.

To be honest I have no idea why you kept coming back.  But I thank you.  You kept me writing for years.

I don't want to say I am giving up on life.

Maybe I am going to take another route.

I will tell you if I do.

But like I said I don't like joining, so the thought of becoming "something" whatever it is, is not something I am about.

The most likely effect of my stopping the public blogging is of course...nothing.

I know I might be projecting how I feel on to some of you, and the truth is there are almost no readers here, so it makes little sense to even broach the subject with you.

The fact is I feel a little silly even telling you all this.

But if there is just one of you who cares it would hurt me to say "fuck off" to you.

I've been thinking how I will handle this for a long time.

I think I might just take a weeks between posts.  And post a lot after I have written something I think is good.

If you are like me you feel the cop/out in all this.

The truth is I just wanna start taking Ecstasy and forget about the world.

That's what I want.

The few times I have taken E. I have discovered: the connection, warmth, and empathy that I lack in real world.

I know E is fake.

All you do is sit on the couch with your friends touching fingers.

But when I take E I get all the "feelings" you take for granted.

I know it destroys brain cells.

But let's face it. I have not been using those brain cells for anything.

I am not the person you think I am.

(So many of you think I am a professional who feels the blue collar worker.  I am not.)

I really do work for 10 dollars an hour.

I really am the kind of idiot that passes up a 2 dollar an hour raise, because he thinks he can't handle the pressure.

I am a fuck up.  I am failure.  And it really pains me to believe that, (not just say it)  like some kind of joke.

I'm almost 40.


It's not going to happen for me.

(I wanted it so much. and maybe I was a fool for thinking so.)

Maybe my Momma shouldn't have told me I was so special so much when I was a kid.

She told it to me so often, I BELIEVED it.

Whenever I think about the love my mother gave me when I was little I can't help but remember how I dominated the basketball court when I was in 8th grade, or how I was reading ahead of the 5th graders in 1st grade.

I thought shit was gonna be that easy for the rest of my life, and I never prepared myself for the hard work that life is all about.  Ironic.  I see so many people live the hard life every day at my job.

I think I know the "hard" life.   I saw my parents try and get through.

I do have some empathy.

I feel it when I look into the weary eyes of my customers.

My heart bumps forcibly in my chest for the guy running too late to catch the bus.

(He knocks furiously on the window, but the driver keeps going.)

It's funny.

I'm not broken, but I may not be fixable.

So there you go.