Tag: drug addict

Savior

I hate picking categories for my blogs. Sometimes I sit here for like ten minutes and mull. I like sitting and mulling over things. Then I usually just drift away, drift away, drift away………

I’ve been wanting to write this for a few days. I think it might be important. There are just so many angles and I’m seeing things in my head like a great big kaleidoscope lately and Resces Peanut Butter Cups saved me. Ramble done. Substance begin.

        

Saving

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said,
‘Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed’

-Joni Mitchell

When first heard these lyrics, it resonated with something deep down within me. I had a dream. Well a daydream of sorts. I was 14 years old. It was on my parents bed. I saw that man. I saw the man I was supposed to save. The features in his face were blurred. Then I knew. Then I knew.

      

The search was short. I thought I found that which had been conjured to me. This was only a faux pearl. This was something like heartache but I had no heart. No one was saved. I was left a wreckage. Nothing was broken. Nothing has no name.

I went off further into the abyss we call humanity. I saw glimpses of greatness. I saw far more horrors. I’ve seen many things that do not bear repeating. For their lack of importance, for their lack of any kind of depth. Only rings around a tree. Only rings around a giant redwood smothered around her kindren deep within the darkest forrest.

     

Then one day someone introduced a novel concept to me. That of saving myself. So I did. I had just seen Trainspotting again recently. So I left the life I knew, the people I knew stuck at a random motel. I thought I had stolen their drugs but in actuality I stole their Marlboro miles. I did not fret. I did not care. I never looked back. That life was gone.

Then I found something. I found myself. He was hiding where the willows never weep. On a tall cumulus cloud nestled in between the puffs.

When I was sitting home one night it occured. I had no idea what was happening. There was no immediate warmth or glow or feeling of glee or joy. I met the person I was supposed to save. There’s really no way of knowing you are going to save something until the process is already underway. It sweeps you up one night and then you wake up the next day with a hangover. You wonder what just occured. I thought this was love. This was nothing of the sort.

       

So I saved him.

Literally.

His life.

Not we had a little pep talk and he went out and threw three touchdown passes and the whole town of rednecks went into a frenzy.

Not I sprinkled my fairy dust all through the village and everyone thought he was a prince.

Not he was sad. We got drunk. We fucked. He felt acceptance but walked with a limp.

       

No. Physically preventing him from leaving this world. Tackling him with the noose in his hand.

It happened again. This time I offered him death. I offered him a chance to overdose on my bed. He chose not. Saved again.

Aftermath 

I do not regret the choices I have made.

I stand by each and every one of them as my own.

Sometimes I wonder whether or not I saved the person I was supposed to save. It’s not really what I would call a regret. Just more mulling inside my own head.

There are times that make my decision feel right. There are times that make it cold and barren and desolate. An Antarctic tundra trapped by numbness between the webbing of my feet.

      

I do not search for what is to be saved.

I do not seek that which lies within.

I venture forth the crumbling highway.

I call for nothing yet something always begins.

  By SpaceDog

My Decade of Debauchery : The Foreshadowing Preface

After High School I didn’t have a fucking clue what the hell to do. I was young, and hated authority in any form. Needlessly to say I was jobless and had NO DESIRE to ever enter the Workforce. I had no desire to become one of those poor people who waste the prime years of their life at work only to retire and resent it. I drank like a fucking fish while smoking cigarettes excessively from the time I opened my eyes to the time I passed the fuck out. I was on numerous illicit substances usually a combination of several daily morning, noon or night. I was what is referred to as a “Functioning Drug Addict” which simply means I can party my ass off and still function.

I  was EXTREMELY Opinionated and not afraid to state it no matter where or when I had an opinion on every fucking thing there was or is. My Mother I remember took me aside one day and said,”You have to watch your mouth because unless someone REALLY knows you at some point you’ll insult, offend, shock or anger someone, and their going to turn around and punch you in the face.”

I lived at home with my Mother as by then my parents had been divorced for a couple years. I also had the habit off pissing off one of my parents after a few months and then bailing to go live with my other parent. This was great for at one point I was living with my Father in a Dope Apartment in the center of town over a fancy ass restaurant, and was never there because of work and he was dating a good bit ( I met several women who’s names and faces I forget and don’t mind that I’ve forgotten.) So I had the place all to my self I had the entire run of the place. I digress for now that that is a completely different set of Stories all together, and I plan to save for another time.

I also had an extreme impulsive control issues as I had none at the time, with a horrendous temper I inherited from my Father (R.I.P) Whatever I thought to say I said and whatever I thought to do I did immediately without a single thought about any possible consequences. It was also true I had a Knack for getting in trouble, but ultimately I never suffered any serious side effects (Example: Getting Arrested Numerous Times)

I knew I needed cash to fund my” Low Life” life style and feed my various addictions as the grew bigger and badder over time. I was what is referred to by Narcotics Anonymous as a “Garbage Can” meaning we didn’t have one particular drug we craved and indulged in as opposed to others. I did them them all. I did whatever I could get my deviant hands on because my true drug was MORE. I never cared what it was just give me MORE AND MORE, but I”ll never be satisfied. I did Cocaine (I snorted and injected it), Smoked Crack, Shot/ snorted Heroin, Dropped Acid (Paper or Liquid), Ate Ecstasy and MDMA, Crystal Meth, Peyote, Micro Dots, PCP, and the some pills such as Vicodin, Xanax, Valium, but thank fuck I got out of the drug game before Pain Pills became EXTREMELY POTENT and READILY AVAILABLE. The one addiction I’m glad I narrowly avoided is/was gambling as I’m positive I suck at it from the get go, and would have lost even more shit in my life than I did with the Drink and Drugs.

I don’t include Marijuana because I don’t consider it a drug and remain a daily smoker.

With no prospects for a future outside of our shitty little town that we both despised with people we fucking hated Armenian and I decided to Sell Drugs. I don’t personally consider Marijuana to be a drug, but unfortunately the DEA decides these matters. With that said we dealt mainly in Pot, LSD and PCP. If we didn’t have what you wanted at the time we knew where to get it. This lead to a  good bit of middle man work done on our part and of course charge a finders fee which could be paid in cash or stash we weren’t picky per say.

Now the Armenian was dating this girl E which meant it wasn’t just me and Armenian it was a goddamn package deal. On top of that bullshit we found out an acquaintance of ours named Guru who happened to be selling the same shit in the same area. Armenian and I decided joining forces was better than fighting for turf and customers, yet E was highly opposed to the idea and protested loudly. In spite of her opinion Armenian and I proposed to Guru our merger idea and we partnered up.

Thats Enough of That Now with More to Come.

Les Sober 

Unconventional Assignment Sets English Department on its Ass

DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING POST DOES NOT INDORSE, PROMOTE, SUPPORT OR GLORIFY DRUG ADDICTION. IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW IS BATTLING ADDICTION PLEASE GET HELP.

I was a freshman in collage when I took a writing course that was billed as a creative writing class. It turned out to be a real turd. There was absolutely NOTHING creative about the class I assure you. The Professor was phoning it in as far as I was concerned. There wasn’t creativity because there was no originality. What I mean is this Guy basically ran us through a basic writing textbook full of the most mundane rudimentary writing exercises.

One fateful day the so called Professor assigned what is called “A List Exercise”.  A list Exercise is writing a list describing a process such as ReBuilding a Carburetor, Baking Cup Cakes, Making a Toy Model, Groom a Dog etc. in list form. Its basically a step by step how to list.

I was so utterly disgusted with the assignment I decided to write an unconventional list because that would be interesting (I mean its a fucking list how interesting is that shit?!), and not just a half assed description of some ordinary task I chose just to complete the assignment.

When it comes to writing a classic motto of sorts is “A writer writes what they know” and with that said I decided for my unorthodox List Exercise that I would write about the ritual of the Heroin Addict which I am quite personally familiar with from my Decade of Debauchery (My past feels like several lifetimes).

Needless to say this caught the Professors eye and not in a good way. He told me it was inappropriate and that I was making a mockery of the class. The Professor then went on to report my paper to the Head of the English Department. Before the end of the day the entire English Department was gossiping feverishly about it and adding their two cents worth.

In the end I was given a slap on the wrist and told not to repeat such “Disruptive Behavior” and all would be forgiven.

Ladies & Gentlemen without a further ado for your reading pleasure I give you that very cleaver and controversial Exercise List:

  1. Score the heroin
  2. Find safe and private area/location
  3. Fire up Zippo lighter and place it standing upright
  4. Get spoon out
  5. Place small amount of water in spoon (to help with this part bending the spoon at the base of the neck is recommended)
  6. Combine the water and heroin in spoon
  7. Mix water and heroin thoroughly in spoon
  8. Place spoon over a heat source i.e. flame such as a Lighter, Match or Lit Candle
  9. Wait for the water-heroin concoction to simmer (Bubble)
  10. Once simmering immediately remove spoon from flame
  11. Allow the mixture to cool (requires just an minute or so)
  12. Place piece of cotton or a piece cigarette filter to use as a filter
  13. Draw up heroin into syringe through the filter
  14. Make sure to remove ALL air bubbles by flicking syringe with index finger (If you inject an air bubble it will travel to your heart and you will DIE)
  15. Once the bubbles have burst expel the excess by pushing plunger of syringe until air is out

16.Tie off using a belt, phone cord etc. as a tourniquet

17. Insert syringe into vein at a 45 degree angle

18. Draw back plunger to see if your actually in a vein

19. If a small amount of blood rushes into the syringe your set, if not repeat #17

20. Once you’ve draw the plunger back and blood entered the syringe inject heroin slowly

21. Once the heroin is injected remove tourniquet

22. Remove needle

23. Wipe off excess blood from injection site

24. Apply pressure to stop any further bleeding

25. In 3 to 4 hours the high will wear off (possibly making you severely sick depending on how addicted you are or become)

26. When you come down you will want/need to repeat this entire list again and again and again….Until You either end up DEAD, IN PRISON or GET CLEAN.

Thanks For Reading

 Les Sober 

 

Tori Amos: A Quick Clarification

It’s no secret that I’m about the farthest fucking thing from a Tori Amos fan, not by a long shot. I find her music extremely melodramatic with  Heavy Piano, it the only music  that makes Emo look like it has balls. Amos’s Lyrics are Vague and as for “singing” Amos opts to howl, wail, and Yodel her way through every damn song like she’s America’s answer to Iceland’s Bjork.

Its also no secret that Tori Amos has had a long torrid love affaire with cocaine. Tori Amos is essentially a life long cokehead and it shows in her so called music.

There is a popular Tori Amos song (who’s title surprise, surprise I don’t know) BUT the Chorus is;

“God sometimes you don’t come through…”

To be crystal clear Amos’s is not making a profound statement about a religious deity. She is making a exclamation about her Coke Dealer.

Now I’m no Saint or anything resembling one and I’ve been in the situation Tori Amos finds herself in as far as the subject matter pertaining to this song. Its definitely one of the shittiest feelings know to all mankind to be Coked out of your mind tweaking like a Son-Of-A-Bitch and you can’t get a hold of your Drug Dealer.

The intense feeling of utter desperation taxed heavily with anxiety and uncontrollable racing thoughts/pulse, pounding heartbeat, Paranoia, and the intense craving is one of the reasons drug addicts question why they do the drugs they do when their Sober.

The most fucked up thing is I really hate Cocaine, I was never into stimulants, Depressants were my favorite drugs. What I mean by that is Coke made me feel more not less. So I haven’t done Cocaine in 14 years and have no plan to indulge in it ever again.

Thanks For The Read,

Les Sober    

 

The Deviant Detective Ep 3 : Looking For The Cock Rock King

Rock kicked his feet up onto his desk with a solid thud. Rock picked up a copy of the local paper “The Fanatic” because you’d be surprised what ideas one can come up with by just reading the paper.

Rock flipped through the pages casually until he reached the back of the paper.  At the back of “The Fanatic” was the local entertainment/art scene.

Rock never paid mind to the entertainment section it was all shit. Today though Rock realized he’d not only have to read the entertainment section, but also pay struck attention looking for any possible leads. His new client the underground self proclaimed Queen of Punk Ivy Savage had little patience and a huge fucking drug habit.

Rock scanned the concert section and found Ivy’s missing boyfriend Eddie Oi’s band The Fuck Me Pumps were scheduled to play that night down at a small hole in the wall called The Boozehound Lounge. The Boozehound was only a couple of blocks from The BarFly Bar which Ivy had mentioned as a possible hangout of Eddie’s.

Rock placed his feet back on the floor, downed 4 fingers of Kentucky White Whisky, lit a cigarette and exhaled with a labored sigh. Rock knew what he had to do. Rock called a cab and headed down to what was referred to as the dive district.

The dive district was a run down part of the city with abandoned factories, dive bars, shitty clubs, Soup kitchens, Hobo Haven (a tent city of sorts consisting of the cities many homeless), methadone clinics, the county mental health hospital, mom and pop liquor stores, Pawn shops, Strip clubs, Old school Porno theaters most converted into sex shops, the slums run by lecherous so called land lords, and the solid waste authority.

On the ride Rock decided it be best to pick the cabbies brain. Next to bartenders cabbies were the unofficial information sources of street knowledge the who’s, what’s, when’s and where’s the life blood of the city.

“Hey buddy how long you been driving the dive district route?,” inquired Rock

“22 years and thats 20 to damn many,” gripped the cabbie

“I’m looking for some punk rock guy named Eddie Oi. You know the prime punk scene hangouts and clubs?”

“Fuck that shit. The Fuck Me Pump’s aren’t punk rock, their fucking cock rock. your looking in the right neighborhood but wrong street if ya know what I’m saying pal.,”

“What in the name of Christ is Cock Rock?,” asked Rock as he reached for his trusty flask.

“Cock Rock,”said the cabbie “Its like punk rock, 3 chord shit played as fast as humanly possible. Instead of politics or social commentary Cock Rock is  essentially a shitty porno put to music. Think 2 Live Crew but with guitars and all that shit.”

“Shit and I thought Punk was the soundtrack of the gutter but damn just like always theres something worse than what you think. Wheres a good place to start the search?” Rock wondered aloud.

“Easy you go to The BarFly Bar. When you get there ask for Bloody Sod Bollocks he’s the godfather of underground hardcore scene. He used to be in some famous British hardcore punk band back in the day called Shit Out of Luck or something like that. He’s been here in the city so long he knows every-fucking-body. You looking for a musical you go talk to Bloody Sod.” claimed the cabbie in utter confidence as he pulled up to the curb outside of The BarFly Bar.

Well isn’t that convenient as hell thought Rock. All signs seemed to point to The BarFly Bar and that would be Rock’s jumping off point. Rock exited the cab making sure to give the cabbie a hefty tip not for the ride but the information. Any asshole can drive a car.

The BarFly Bar looked like the kind of establishment one would expect to get stabbed in. The bar smelled foul like a locker room and a well used port-o-potty combined. Jesus Christ Rock thought I’ve been in shitty bars before but this is by far the shittiest. It’s like every other shitty bar came to The BarFly and took a massive shit in it.

The windows where blacked out to spare the bottom dwelling patrons having to face the light of day. Cigarette smoke hung in the air wafting around the lights like restless spirits. The bar was located to the left of the main entrance. The bar itself was lined with decreped and wobbly stools patched together with duct tape.

The bartender/owner was a stout man in his early 60’s whose collection of tattoos had deteriorated into sloppy blurs over the decades. His large gnarled hands with thick calluses spoke hard life of manual labor and long hours. The wrinkles in his face where etched through time like the feordes  and ran just as deep.

The handful of patrons were spread through out the bar all of them alone. The exception being a middle aged couple who seemed oblivious to the world around them as the slobbered all over one another. It was the equivalent of watching a extremely shitty home made sex tape.

Rock saddled up to the bar preferring to stand over sitting on one of the STD ridden bar stools.

“Hey Bartender let me get 3 fingers of Westminster Whiskey and an ash tray while your at it,” Said Rock slowly rescanning the bar.

“I’m Gunny bartending is what I do.”replied Gunny as he angrily pulled the cork from the whiskey bottle “Ive got no problem letting you know that I don’t like dicks in my bar private or otherwise.”

“Well at least you didn’t say cop. I’m looking for Eddie Oi he owes my client money. Thats where I come in.”

“Who doesn’t that grimy little shit owe money to? I haven’t seen him since I 86ed his bar tab, and told him until he repays it all drinks will be on a cash transaction.”

“You have any idea where he might be Gunny?”

“Hell no. But Justin Sane the drummer in his little shit band is in the stock room.” said Gunny as he started to wipe down the warped bar top.

“What the hell is he doing in the stock room?” Rock asked downing his drink in one gulp before signaling for another.

“Some junkie groupie took him back there, sad the high light of this pitiful girls rough life will be sucking Justin’s baby dick in the back of a shitty bar.”

Rock downed his second drink in the same fashion as the first. Turned to face the stock room door at the back of the building. Rock steadily approached the stockroom door preparing for whatever maybe behind it. Rock stopped right in front of the door, grasped the greasy door knob firmly, and shoved it open like a steroid ridden line backer.

Stockroom more like storeroom is more like it Rock thought the instant the door gave way. None the less there was Justin propped up against a pallet of beer boxes with his red liberty spike mohawk, tattered leather vest infested with a collage of various band’s pins and patches, generic white t-shirt with a anarchy sign spray painted on it in a sickly green, slew of amateur India ink tattoos that gave way to the track marks beginning to establish themselves. His cut off jean shorts around his ankles while some skanky bleached blonde was on her knees in front of him her head bobbing like she’d been infected with a potent fast acting poison, and the only cure was located in Justin’s cock.

Before Rock had a chance to react all hell broke loose. Rock was grabbed from behind and thrown violently backward into the door frame . Ivy Savage came barreling past Rock in a goddamn flash, then she snatched the groupie by the hair and tossed her aside like a fucking rag doll. The instant the groupie was sent tumbling into a near by liquor rack Ivy dropped to her knees. She grabbed Justin’s massive member at the base with one hand and the tip with the other. What happened next defies logic. Ivy now with Justin’s huge lap hog in her hands bite down on it full force like she was rabidly attacking an ear of corn. Inspire of Gunny’s disparaging comments pertaining to the size of Justin’s “baby dick” Justin was hung like a goddamn donkey. The kid was 5′ 9″ and a 100 pounds soaking wet and 10 of those pounds were due to his dick Rock thought sarcastically. Justin’s porn star sized cock was inevitably too thick for Ivy to bite it clean in half which seemed to be her true intent.

In spite of Justin’s unforeseen girth Ivy earned her moniker of savage. Ivy gleefully started biting mouthfuls of Justin’s schlong spitting them out one after the other while screaming like a blood thirsty banshee “I’M IVY FUCKING SAVAGE! I’LL POISON YOU LIKE IVY AND BRUTALIZE YOU LIKE A FUCKING SAVAGE!!!!”

Rock had had enough of this bullshit for the day. The groupie cowering in a corner kicking and screaming, Ivy’s genital based cannibalism, and Justine guttural growls as blood splatter covered the entire room. Rock reached over and took a bottle of cheap rot gut booze and brought it crashing down upon Ivy’s head knocking out cold. Rock turned and exited the storeroom shutting the door behind him.

“Holy Hell what the fuck is going on in there?!!,” demanded Gunny scowling at Rock intensity.

“Gunny, your closed for the evening,” replied Rock with calculated calm before promptly leaving the confines of The BarFly for the soothing insanity of the city streets. Then it suddenly occurred he had failed to locate the so called underground godfather Bloody Sod Bolloks.

“Goddamn it! Shit,shit,shit!! Goddamn Bloody Sod!” Rock said aloud in utter frustration.

“You looking to find Bloody he’s at the Methadone Clinic everyday at 5pm to hook up his daily dose.” commented a disheveled homeless kid who was  lurking in a dark doorway like a ghost of society.

“Thanks for the tip,” Rock said handing the homeless kid a twenty “Buy some fucking food. Don’t spend all this on dope or drink.”

“Sure thing,” the homeless kid chirped excitedly at the sight of the twenty.

Sure thing my ass thought Rock as he turned away from the kid and headed off towards the City’s sole methadone clinic at a quick clip.

To Be Continued…

In

The Deviant Detective Ep.4 : Shit Sandwich Lunch Special

The Hepatitis C Hypothesis

 I have had a hypothesis lingering in the back of my brain for over a year, and my hypothesis is can Marijuana slow the progression of Hepatitis C. Now lets establish a few things before I begin presenting my Hep C Hypothesis .

  1. I’m not a Medical School student.
  2. I have no formal medical training/education.
  3. I am not a Doctor.
  4. I contracted Hep C
  5. I was treated for Hep C and now am considered cured (Hep C level is undetectable)
  6. I am curious and intelligent
  7. I keep up with the advancements of Marijuana in Medicine as I am 100% Pro Pot and the governments propaganda has been disproven as now real medical research has begun

 So heres the story, hypothesis, and Explanation there of. When I was 72  I had danced with the Hellion Heroin for brief periods through out my younger years, but this time it finally found me and proceeded to do exact its revenge the only way Heroin knows how by destroying your life. But that is a story for a different occasion and this is not a tutorial or case study on or about Heroin. 

The only reason I mentioned Heroin at all is there are only 2 ways to contract Hep-C  one being through a Blood Transfusion (Which I’ve never had and RELAX THEY CHECK FOR IT NOW.) and the second being through intravenous drug use which is how I became infected. Now Hep C can hideout in your liver for 10,15,20 years before any symptoms are present so I personally diagnosed with Hep C a decade (10 years) later after I had cleaned myself up along with my life. 

Its one of those stories you hear about I went in for routine blood work as part of a well overdue physical. After a while I realized that the Doctor’s office had failed to call me with my blood work results which is par of the course so I called them since I find people not preforming their basic job duties irritating as fuck. I got a receptionist that answered the phone as if she hated her job and her life along with it who transferred me to a nurse. The nurse got on the line and read my results like she had never seen (more or less read) blood work results before in her life, and seemed to be desperately struggling to figure out what she was looking at.  In the end she informed me that due to slightly elevated liver enzymes the Doctor was recommending a more extensive blood work panel. I am not one of those smart asses that go on Med MD or some shit, and then go to my Doctor and try to 1 up him when he presents his findings/recommendations.  I followed the Doctors orders and promptly went to have my blood drawn and sent off to some laboratory god knows where to be analyzed.  Once the results were in I was contacted in a timely matter this time around, and wanted me to set up a consultation (which I interpreted as VERY BAD fucking thing because consultations of this sort always lend themselves to the worst of the worst scenario) When I got to the consultation the Doctor told me the diagnosis was Hepatitis C and that being out of his skill set was referring me to a specialist (known as Infectious Disease Doctors which I believe to be the worst fucking title for a Doctor as they already make people nervous to begin with).  

NOW LETS PAUSE A MINUTE. This is also NOT a tutorial on Hep C so I’m mentioning only the bare basics as I they related to me personally through my Hepatitis situation. If your curious about Hep C then fucking Google it.

When I met with the Specialist who informed me that for someone with Hep C I was in rather good position. This was due to the fact my viral load (or amount of Hep C found in one’s blood) was 100,000 which granted sounds like a lot, BUT on average when someone comes to him their numbers are 5 million usually more. Also he informed me that due to excessive amounts of liver transplants the FDA had made Hep C its number 1 priority which meant they were pumping millions of dollars into research. I was lucky I didn’t have to suffer through the traditional interferon which is used to treat cancer as well as Aids/HIV and was the main reason people quit treatment. All I had to do in the end was take 2 pills once a day for 3 months, have blood work immediately after finishing treatment and then again a year later to see if I was indeed cured which I was and am to this day.

Now even though I was in a good position along with new medications to be cured before I suffered a single symptom and was subsequently was cured still had to wonder how it all came to be.  I say that because when I was using Heroin I also drank excessively and we all know that will kill your liver if you let it so my liver was getting the holy Hell kicked out of it in a 2 on 1 fight for preservation. I would like to say when I got clean I also got sober yet that was not to be the case. I continued to drink heavily with occasional benders. I still enjoy beer (I have quit Booze) BUT I have learned in older age moderation is the key to all things this world has to offer. 

My lingering question simply was how in spite of the Shooting Heroin and the boarder line alcoholism how could my Hep C viral load was extremely low when I was diagnosed? Then I noticed new studies in Marijuana and its affect on Cancer Tumors. What was being reported was while Marijuana can’t cure Cancer or destroy tumors it could buy the patient a good deal of well needed/wanted time by slowing the Tumor’s ability to replicate Cancer Cells. Basically Caner sets up shop (the way Hep C sets up shop in the liver) and then replicates Caner cells like a fucking Cancer Factory Assembly Line. Hep C specifically sets up its shop in the liver it works in the same way as Cancer does using replication. So the initial Hypothesis is Can Marijuana Slow The Replication of the Hepatitis C Virus in infected patients they way it can in Cancer Patients?!

Its not just the Marijuana itself that I believe could slow Hep C’s replication process alone theres more to it than that. While it has for a rather long time been proven as fact that every single human being (for unknown reasons) has THC receptors in wired into their brains. But not only that further research on THC receptors has shown its not just the brain that comes equipped with THC receptors but they can be found through out the body. Not only that but there are dense clusters of THC receptors located through out the human body INCLUDING THE LIVER.

  In summation my hypothesis is this: Can Marijuana in combination with the cluster of THC receptors in the liver account for my extremely low viral load (and the ability to be 100% cured) being due to the combined ability of Marijuana and the THC receptors located in the liver slow Hep C cell replication? 

 

 

 

Hey Hollywood Thats NOT How You Do Heroin

Preface: Let me cut the questions of how the Sam Hell I know what I’m talking about or what kind of authority on the subject I am off at the knees.  Between the ages of 72 and 91 I indulged in bad decisions and seriously self destructive behavior up to and including (spending a couple of dire years) Shooting as much Heroin as I could daily. I’m one of a small handful of lucky ones as I’m clean, still alive ,healthy, and not in Prison or  a State run Mental Institution. So that explains that.

First off I will give credit where credit where credit is do. The following is a short list of the Heroin Addiction properly portrayed in Hollywood Films.

  1. The color is correct. Heroin comes in two primary colors those being White and the other being Tan.
  2. The wax bags that Heroin is packaged in.
  3. Stamps: Dealers stamp their bags with some insignia like a Horse’s Head or believe it or not even a coffin (theres foreshadowing for you) as a form of Advertising so if Junkies like it they know how to get the dope they want. If there is a Blue Fox stamp on the bags Junkies will refer to it as (The) Blue Fox so they not only can identify it by sight but can also request it by name.
  4. The Cooking/Preparation of the Heroin with the token spoon,water,heating, the piece of cotton (part of a cigarette filter torn in two is quite common.), drawing the Heroin up into the syringe ,and even tieing off which is the part where the Junkie uses a belt,cord or other such thing to use as a pre injection tourniquet .

But thats as far as the accurate pretrial of the Heroin injecting process goes in Hollywood. Its rather funny that Hollywood knows all the intricacies of the process YET they still fuck it up right at the very end.

Once a Junkie purchases, prepares and draws the Dope into the syringe THIS is how its done. With that I give you the Junkie Reality List or How Dopers Do It:

Note to Reader: I think its pertinent to mention WHERE Junkies get their syringes. Most people think Junkies buy needles off dealers (which is a very slight possibility) ,buy them off other Junkies or perhaps off  of Junkie Diabetics (yes they exist BUT these such Diabetics usually sell their extra syringes to supplement their almost non existent incomes POINT BEING these people are poor or have a vice of their own that needs funding (ironically 9 out of 10 times its Alcohol) NOW THE REAL DEAL IS anyone can go into any pharmacy and buy Insulin Syringes WITHOUT A DOCTOR’S PRESCRIPTION. The reason for this (especially in an age where you have to show a photo id to get cold medicine) as far as anyone can deduct is an UNOFFICIAL policy that UNOFFICIALLY ENDORSES Clean Needles (allowing the selling of Insulin Syringes without a doctor script) to prevent HIV,AIDES,BLOOD INFECTIONS,COLLAPSED VEINS AND HEPATITIS C.

With that said here is the for mentioned Junkie Injection List:

  1. The type of syringe (as I mentioned above) Junkies use are Insulin Syringes because You don’t need a doctors script to purchase and are the needles one would find being sold on the street. IN HOLLYWOOD for some ridiculous reason have their movie Junkies using a standard 3cc syringe. 3cc syringes are the syringes your doctor uses to administer vaccinations, flu shots, tetanus shot etc. It is also the syringe (If your a pet owner) used by veterinarians to administer vaccinations, antibiotic shots, pain medication among other things. THE EASIEST EXAMPLE IS THIS A Phlebotomist (a person who draws blood) uses a 3cc syringe to draw human blood ,and veterinarians also use 3cc syringes to draw blood for testing.
  2. The actual injection is the exact opposite of what is seen in Hollywood films. In films the actor Junkies inject themselves at absurdly WRONG ANGLES anything from 45-90 degrees which would make it medically IMPOSSIBLE to use for an intravenous injection. The reason that such wildly wrong degrees are medically incorrect is simple at those specified angles the syringe needle would PUNCTURE RIGHT THROUGH THE VEIN ITSELF ,and would come out the other side thus negating the desired injection. The degree that is correct (and is taught to medical students) is 15 degrees because you want to run along side the vein and then puncture it, any other angle your essential just stabbing through the vein (like Norman in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho ) and wasting the dope.
  3. THE DRAW BACK, while there a small handful of films that actually do portray this part at all an example being in Quentin Tarantino’s movie Pulp Fiction when John Travolta’s character shoots up. The draw back is when the Junkie injects and once they believe they have hit and are in the desired vein the PULL THE SYRINGE PLUNGER BACK slightly to see if a bit of blood enters into the syringe. Once there is blood mixed in the syringe the Junkie knows that THEIR IN THE VEIN.

Afterward: I wrote this because over hundreds of decades since I kicked  dope I have had the pleasure of meeting a few other ex-Junkies and just like me they all found it irritating as a mad ass motherfucker that Hollywood couldn’t get the last part of the process correct. Thusly I dedicate this to all of my fellow ex-Junkies around the world, its just one ex-Junkie’s attempt to set the record strait.

 

 

 

 

 

“Bite It You Scum” Lyrics

You want me to kiss your ass,

Well bend over here comes my foot,

I don’t need your crying ass shit,

tempers rising have a fit,

BITE IT YOU SCUM (X 4)

You want me to contribute,

all I’ve got is blood for you,

all you want is more and more,

bite it you pig, you whore

BITE IT YOU SCUM (X 4)

One day when the end is near,

I’ll be laughing at your fear,

when there is no one,

who will be fucking up my fun, NO ONE

BITE IT YOU SCUM (X4)

BITE IT, BITE IT, BITE IT YOU SCUM

-By G.G.Allin and The Murder Junkies-