MY EXPERIENCE WITH AMPHETAMINES
How does one start? A question that has so many sides to it that there cannot be one answer or a right answer. Drugs are neither good nor bad--they are drugs just as cats are cats or better yet a rock or rather a grain of sand is a grain of sand, one does not look at or judge a grain of sand as good or bad but just knows it is a grain of sand and there is no further deliberation or thought as to whether or not this sand is good or bad. This goes the same for drugs--yet, what worries me, bothers me, makes me want to cry or feel a rush of sentimentality is that more often than not when people are associated with drugs they are seen as bad--the junkie, the hophead, the dope, the no good rotten son of a bitch dope fiend that will rape your dog and kill your sister--now, there is nothing funny about this fore it is very real and no one feels it worse than the person associated with drugs, narcotics, pills, powder, over the counter, and the list goes on indefinitely as the human mind finds different ways to distort itself or not to escape(as is so often labeled as the reason behind using drugs) but to experience a world in a different light, perception, and/or reality.
I am a writer whether people like to think of me as such or not because I need to write. I need to write because I have no brotherhood to belong to or family to lift me up. I have no god, no entity or deity or all-knowing spirit. I have myself and I have writing. Writing is my confessional or whatever other means of solace or place of comfort in which one finds...a feeling of weight, guilt, or negativity being expunged from both the mind and body.
Curiousity killed the cat but cocaine brought it back--half of this proverb is correct but it is true and truth is what all the old blowhards namely Emerson and Thoreau were after, so truth is what I give my audience--myself. Curiosity can lead to new experiences and change one’s outlook on life or feeling meaning emotions for that moment in time which is truthfully the only one that matters because the present is where life exists--life does not exist in the future, life in the future is a thought whereas life in the present is reality. One’s present reality is what brings about one’s past memories and future concerns but to live in the present is to be free from both the past and the future.
There is a certain type of person drawn towards taboo. Taboo being anything that is not acceptable by a set of social standards that albeit invisible nevertheless exists in the minds of most including myself. I cannot escape the guilt of taboo yet the guilt I feel is fleeting and momentary which is perhaps why it is much easier for me to explore what is considered or seen as deviant behavior. Homosexuality, not so long ago, was the most feared taboo amongst our culture--the idea of anal sex or sodomy(a much nastier word--see Sodom and Gamorrha). Today, in the 21st century, we are nearing a time when homosexuality will no longer be feared. Gay marriage is becoming acceptable--as it should, why should straight married couples be considered better than gay couples and in due process receive the tax break or whatever retarded economics is attached to such a sentiment as marriage?
And so, where does that leave the individual...the man or woman without a spouse. The true individual(not meaning to put the word individual into context of being either good nor bad) exists on the fringe of society and must make one of two choices--to take those steps necessary to be accepted by another or reject those and deal with oneself as best as oneself can in either solitude or amongst friends. I, for the most part exist in solitude without many friends and the few friends I have had after being diagnosed as “Bipolar” have been some of the best and more often than not they are other individuals who are “outsiders” like myself.
I think of myself as an “outsider” because I see commercials i.e. marketing and advertising and I don’t relate to those stereotypes being presented to the consumers of mass media--the stereotypical guy or girl on the go as it is or any other stereotype--commercials only propagate or further stereotypes and people either seek to mold themselves to such a stereotype or reject them completely. I believe that it is much easier to fit oneself into a stereotype that has been prefabricated by commercialism than it is to exist outside the accepted social standard stereotype--for instance, let’s take the marijuana user and put him into the context of marketing and advertising. This stereotype, let’s call it--the hophead stereotype(THS)--can be seen in commercials ranging from pizza to insurance to cleaning products. Why? Because there is a market--not only do hopheads exist but they exist in large enough numbers to be marketed and sold to in mass quantities and numbers...I digress but such is the nature of writing and thinking at the same time...a true stream of conciousness, not like Joyce or Woolf, their stream of conciousness was anything but a stream but rather an engineered marvel similar to the Hoover Dam or the large headstones on Easter Island...which I find interesting because the writing styles of both Joyce and Woolf were anything but the product of stream of conciousness--their styles were both highly refined and represent a style that is perhaps one of the hardest styles of writing that has ever existed throughout time (except for maybe Milton’s Paradise Lost and a few others...a bakers dozen at the least).
Automatic writing has never taken a foothold amongst the other styles of accepted writing and writers. To me, automatic writing is just that...writing as one’s thoughts come to mind and the faster one can both thing and write the more firepower their writing has and just as with an automatic weapon, the more firepower behind the writing the more strength...meaning, a stronger insight into a mind at work, a closer look at the synapses that occur in the brain as they occur at speeds much faster than anyone can type.
I believe that one must be writing for automatic thoughts to occur. Writing acts as a catalyst for thought and produces automatic thoughts in response to what one is writing. I meant to write about my experience with amphetamines which I will get to but other things have come to mind in do process and why hold these thoughts back...ultimately, they are connected to my thoughts on amphetamines with everything I write hear branching out from one thought or another.
It has been a long time...months--maybe three probably four(does it matter?)...since I have written anything of great length. All the books on writing will tell you to write everyday as if writing were a drill--something that should be practiced until the mind involuntarily produces a refined product of repeated drills not dissimilar to the marching exercises in military boot camp. I have found that most writers that advise writing everyday at a certain time
[PHONE CALL: I talked to my mother about my current employment opportunity working at the department of social services and talked to her about my amphetamine use. When I woke up today I was confronted with a decision--to continue or discontinue my use of amphetamines. Now, as of today, I cannot use amphetamines as they take a long time to recover from after using them as I did via snorting. Right now, I am shaky. This occurred after telling my mother about the amphetamine use. She is liberal but not liberal about what I have discuassed as being taboo. If it were acceptable to use cocaine in the way that we use caffeine then I would not have felt that I needed to tell her...this is a reflection upon our relationship which is the only one of it’s kind. My mother has always been there when I needed her help from when I was hungry as an infant to when I was hungry as an unemployed and disabled(according to social services--and there have been times when I was truly disabled and I have always needed not wanted what little money they have given me and without the extra financial support from my mother I would be homeless which reflects how our society feels about the blind, the deaf,...meaning, they cry when they read Helen Keller’s book but when they see her they would rather spit than swallow...a dark view but this is the truth to me. Kafka once wrote, “The public is not your friend.” This hit home and I have remembered it since first reading it...I think that so much emphasis is put upon being accepted by our fellow man that every time someone deviates from the standard there is a backlash of ill repute or distaste for that person, people, or community(such as San Francisco’s acceptance and general welcoming of diversity...perhaps it has not always been this way in the bay but it has always been as such when I have been there and hope that one day Sacramento could be similar in it’s emphasis on the need of social programs to promote not only a healthy public but a healthy economy as well...which reminds me I want to read Adam Smith’s book about economics and Leviathin by Hobbes, both have had such a profound influence upon the world that they are perhaps more insightful as to why we are here than any religious text that I have read which is limited to the bible but I do not want religion...religion is paramilitary, be it Buddha or Christ, they each demand that one live a certain way in order to live right...I do not believe there is a right way to live...Freud believed that guilt is the source of most emotions or actions and as such I believe him and religions aim is to remind those that are religious that they have and will always have something to feel and need to be guilty about and for as long as they live in order to live--right.
After the phone call my hands started to shake. The shakes or “the shakes”, just as with any drug there are reactions and when one is taking drugs I think one should always be mentally prepared for the unknown or bizarre and at all times accept these reactions to a drug rather than fight them as doing such only makes the experience unpleasant and in reacting with fear can only produce a bad reaction to the body physically as well as physiologically as they are one and the same.
I have just, or I woke up at noon today and it is six twenty-seven in the p.m. now. I am writing a lot it seems.
PIZZA GUY ON PHONE
PIZZA GUY COMING TO THE DOOR]
Right now, after eating a piece of pizza, I am wondering how it was for Kesey and the rest of the golden children in La Honda. Everything I have read about the merry pranksters seems as though they were living in a state of bliss and met no resistance but rather became a progressively strong group of people to support. I don’t really care about that I suppose...nothing political...I truly wish La Honda could have spread out across the country like a crack in the ice and remained as such. The Merry Pranksters are heroes or seem so to me...none of them are my favorite writers although Kesey was great but they way Wolfe, Thompson, and others wrote about them seemed like the whole scene was like living a...or in a state of bliss. I’ve been close. I used to have a friend whose father had millions and he had a nice home in Humboldt and ever so often we would go on a five hour trip to Humboldt and it was all out all the time without anything but booze and marijuana...I wonder if their onto coke by now? I hope not...only because it’s without me. Knowing this friend was like meeting the engineer of a gravy train and not having known it. Times were great...there was a peak that existed on a plateau I thought would never end until I jumped ship and rolled down into the dirt and dust where it seems I have remained to see life with not only new eyes but a different body and mind.
I got lost somewhere...I was meaning to write about amphetamines as a reminder to myself that amphetamines are fun but one cannot function normally on or...atleast I cannot work and live using amphetamines (meaning chopping Adderall into a fine powder and then snorting it) on a daily basis. There are only a few professions that I know of that would allow for this and those are: paid musicians, paid artists, and retired millionaires. These are just the ones that come off quickly...i’m sure there are others...pimps, prostitutes, and others but these are just unnecessary labels to an unknown public which has nothing to do with me other than when I am in need of their services. There is a saying in the bible, “Treat others as you would like to be treated.” I have read Nietzsche quoted or paraphrased as saying such and have heard Anton LaVey (The Church of Satan) say this on a video AND to me it is the truth...in context of course, meaning, don’t allow your neighbor to shit in your backyard but be nice to those that are willing to give something you need like a bartender; or family members--if your father hits you, hit him back...this I believe.
The writing is coming slower now. I meant to write about my experience on amphetamines. I can sum it up as such...I watched porn all night and day listening to a variety of music and as I made it closer to the twenty-four hour mark my penis was no longer made of flesh but steel and when I came I nearly hit myself in the chin and for a moment knew or imagined I knew how Peter North felt roping all those women with his cock but then I was hard again...I came what seemed like atleast seven times and then went to bed and woke up close to twenty hours later. Before I went to bed I took some clonazepam and Zyprexa. I never snorted more or less than a milligram. Time passed quickly. I also vaporized marijuana and inhaled atleast...what am I doing here? You see this...this is what it looks like when you read people’s experiences on certain websites as if they have the recipe or wherewithal to...or atleast I was looking for the answer to find the confidence to know that I would not overdose or die.
If I would recommend anything I would recommend this: read as much as you can about amphetamines from sources you trust and with drugs ALWAYS start small. I’m being pedantic because I strongly believe amphetamines are safe when used properly...and everyone reacts differently to amphetamines...for instance, I have a friend who lost his mind after one bong hit. I never thought marijuana could do such a thing but when I saw him running out the door barefoot after trying to calm him down I knew it wasn’t bullshit...he was in the hospital for almost a month and has never been the same meaning I think the experience changed him--it didn’t fry his brain or disable him but it scared the shit out of him and me as well. The weed I was smoking was green bammer. I had to smoke a whole damn plants worth to get high it seemed and he took one hit off a bong....I stuck by his side. I was straight for a while. Went to meetings with him but when I went back to college it bummed me out to be at college so I got back into smoking weed and to this day I still love marijuana...as hard as it is for me to write or believe I think the government knows more about weed than anyone else and the reason they keep it illegal is...or rather one of the reasons they keep it illegal is because of such instances as people having such radical adverse reactions to THC that can lead to...a loss of sanity. My friend was so paranoid...he thought his mother and myself and the people on tv...everyone...were out to kill him. I don’t know if alcohol can do the same...it makes people do crazy shit, but has anyone ever lost their sanity from drinking one beer?
I don’t advocate anything or want to give the impression that anything is one thing or another...however, shit, I’m thinking about putting this on my online journal so I’ve had that in my immediate conciousness...somehow, I know that has changed my writing once I felt I was going to do such. No one reads by blog. Blog is such an ugly word and so is weblog. Devolution not evolution...I guess?