My Trip to the Hospital After Healthcare Reform Passed

So, healthcare reform passed and I decided that the angry, old, white men in my area had to have something right. I mean, they are like American heroes. Right?

Representing the red, WHITE and blue!

In order to get a better perspective, I decided to head to most socially regressive state I know: Arizona.

I hopped into my old model Chevrolet (that’s American enough to blend in. Right?) and headed to my destination. Entering Arizona was really obvious; the sun seemed to get 100 degrees hotter and the sweltering, black road seemed to be caressing my wheels in an abusive relationship (One false move and it’ll pop them, but they won’t leave it, they know it loves them!). I parked a block away from the state capital building and got out to experience the atmosphere that is Arizona. The atmosphere was fucking on fire! After one step on the sidewalk I collapsed from the heat and lost consciousness.

Hours later, I awoke to the gentle face of a man with long, black hair and strange garb. He smiled gently and I took stock of my surroundings. I appeared to be in some sort of space shuttle; the small capsule shaped aluminum craft had many foreign artifacts all over the walls. No man could fathom what each of these strange devices were capable of.

“Hello, visitor…” I spoke calmy and looked the creature in the eyes trying to imply that I meant no harm and that maybe we could go hang out at the bar sometime.

“What?” he replied seeming very lost.

“You have strayed far from your home planet!” I asserted hoping to fill him in.

“Dude, I think the sun fried this guy’s brains.” he laughed toward another creature I had not previously noticed. Did they have invisibility cloaks?

AHHH!!!! ALIEN!!!

“I would love to explore then sexually, culturally and environmentally ravage your home land but I have some serious journalism stuff to get to.” I informed them, standing and heading for the hatch. They stared blankly at me as I fumbled with their locking mechanism and ultimately fell down their stairs and began wandering back toward the city. The aliens were conversing about whether or not they should’ve given me the special tea. But, I was already too far away to care.

The sun shone brightly on my back which was a good thing I guess. Boy scout manuals didn’t have enough nudity to keep my pubescent mind interested.

Pornmaster Pornberto Pornstar?

Soon, the dry desert landscape began to change. It seemed brighter and more significant. Clues to our existance lingered on the whispering wind and the tip of every saguaro spine. The sand flowed like an ocean and rattled like a snake. Wait, what was that? I spun toward the rattling sound and was confronted by a mountainous figure.

“Seth Meadows.” it spoke vacantly and raspy. Then a bright light emminated from the figure’s black robe.

“The card says his name is Seth Meadows and he is some kind of ‘reportoir”

Seth Meadows, Reportoir

“I think he’s coming to!” Another voice echoed outside of my head.

“WHY DON’T YOU ALIENS JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!?!” I screamed at the men in lab coats.

“Sir, you have been wandering around Phoenix drunk on dangerously high amounts of peyote tea and rattlesnake venom.”

“I’ve got a snake for you! In my pants!” I said defiantly at the man.

“We know, you ran out of pockets and started stuffing them in your underwear.”

“We need your insurance information, sir.” a chirpy, blonde nurse spoke up.

“Insurance? I don’t buy into that scam. I pay with cash (read: stolen goods/unwanted sexual favors)!”

“Sir, you don’t have any money in your wallet.” she replied, tilting my large rupee bag upside down to illustrate the sad reality that Internet writers only make fictional money and then blow it all on moonshine ingredients.

Fucking showoff!

“Well, we can arrange something else.” I said winking at the now horrified woman.

“It doesn’t matter. Money or not, you don’t have insurance. That’s a crime now.” Said a doctor, destracting me from flirting with the nurse. She seemed relieved that the racially charged dirty talk had stopped.

“What?” I stammered

“It’s part of the new healthcare reform. Every citizen has to have health insurance or face fines.”

“Oh, well, allow me to—” were the last words anyone in the hospital heard. So, now I’m on the run in Mexico. Also, got some decent medical care here. They give me all the pain killers I can eat. I guess America has become the new Canada. We had better learn Spanish. I already have it down a little.

“Yo tengo herpes! Muchos herpes!”

[Via http://diaryofseth.wordpress.com]

Caffine

Both times I’ve had coffee in the past week, I feel like I’m snorting a fat line of cocaine.  Granted I never drink the damn drug, but I swear it’s potency is comparable.  Damn I feel like dancing in the coffee shop amongst all the junkies.  I’m an introvert who’s drugs of choice make them surf the wave of extroversion.  My whole life I’ve been searching for ways to naturally make myself turn inside out.

[Via http://plasticgun.wordpress.com]

Michele Bachmann on Health Care Bill, March 20, 2010, Tea Party Rally, Washington, DC, Fox News, Sean Hannity interview, Bachmann fights health care bill and explains truth, IRS big brother

Michele Bachmann on Health Care Bill, March 20, 2010, Tea Party Rally, Washington, DC

Congresswoman Michele Bachmann of MN was in Washington DC on Saturday, March 20, 2010 to speak out about the Health Care Bill and assure millions of Americans that if Obama and the Democrats pass this tax and control bill, she will fight to repeal it. She also assured Obama and the Democrats that they will lose control of Congress in November.

March 20, 2010, Tea party rally Washington DC, Tea party last stand

Michele Bachmann was interviewed by Sean Hannity on Fox several days ago. She has studied the bill and speaks about over 16,000 new employees being hired by the IRS to enforce provisions of the Health Care Bill. This is one of the clearest manifestations of Obama and his thugs ratcheting up the level of government control and becoming the big brother of “1984.”

[Via http://citizenwells.wordpress.com]

Longing for sleep

I am having trouble sleeping. As in, I am most awake between midnight and 2 a.m. I lie in bed, eyes buzzing behind the mask I wear to fool myself into the deeper darkness that is sleep, body begging for rest, mind for the longed for slowing to come.  When they do come, the moments before sleep are delicious, like that moment right before one goes out before having a medical procedure, when they’ve given you the amnesiac drug so that you are obedient when they tell you to turn over so that doctor and assistants can put a tube up your butt to make sure that there are no nasty things growing invisibly inside you. You can be obedient but not embarrassed, though perhaps you are embarrassed even though you’ve been given the drug, it’s just that you don’t remember it. Which is fine with me.

The last time I had a colonoscopy, the anesthesiologist administered the potion into the tube in my arm and that sweet everything letting go feeling started to take over my consciousness. I looked up at my GI doc. “God, I love drugs,” I said. The last thing I remember is his slightly startled but understanding expression. We are both of a certain age. We can afford to remember those days generally — and inaccurately — referred to as The Sixties, with nostalgia. We did not burn out. Our eyeballs do not bug out of our heads as we panhandle on street corners. Nor are we glassy-eyed visionaries. We are highly respectable functioning members of society.

I wonder if he can sleep.

[Via http://newyorkrosie.wordpress.com]

Drug Advice and Support Session In Progress

Drug Advice and Support (DAS) has now been running for more than 2 years. Over a million messages has already been sent on and over our service. On DAS we offer advice to people abusing and people affected by drugs. Here are some of the counselors hard at work and offering their time to help others. Salute  to all the guys and to their families that allow and release these men do this work and help others that are destitute out there. All glory to God for giving us the ability to do this work.It is only by His grace.

[Via http://brentsjourney.wordpress.com]

Nine Grateful Things

I don’t know why the number 9, but I was asked to name 9 things that I am most grateful for in life. Maybe 10 is just too many, even though there is possibly a million things to choose from. It does sort of make it more interesting.

1) That my mother survived near-death from breast cancer. That is is alive today, and will meet my own daughter, and that I have the chance to (slowly) build the relationship with her that we never had. I love her with all of my heart.

2) That said, I’m so grateful that my parents gave me a sister, and that she is alive and well, despite her difficulties in life. The same goes for my Dad. I’m grateful for my family. That they’re alive for the moment, that no matter how terrible they can be, or how horrible I am, they love me, and I have them to love.

3) I’m grateful for RJ. I don’t know if we are a match made in heaven, soul-mates, or anything else so cosmically connected. But I know he excepts me and loves me and protects me fiercely, despite whatever problems he himself also has. He tries, and when he can’t do it for himself, he does it for me. He makes me feel like I am on my way to becoming the person I’m meant to be, even if it takes a lot more work because I have to help him most of the way too. His support is a much different kind than mine. It’s raw and it’s full of strength and honest love. Mine is more thoughtful, more intellectual. Together, it works. I’m grateful for RJ. I’m grateful to him for giving me the daughter I’m about to have, who I’m also extremely grateful for.

4) I’m grateful to have the use of all of my senses. Some stronger than others, some weakened over time or by unnecessary force, or through abuse of various kinds. But I have them all for now, and I’m grateful for them, even if they sometimes work against me.

5) I’m grateful to have been born in North America. I’m grateful to be from one of the freest places I can possibly be from. I’m proud and grateful to be a Canadian. I could have been born into a life of hatred, abuse, death, and pain. But these things have only been elements of my existence, not my existence entirely. And for that, I am grateful.

6) I am grateful to be off of drugs. I am grateful to have survived those years relatively unscathed. I’m grateful that I still have hope, and that through it all, I never lost the ability to find a positive outlet, a peaceful way to purge myself of the toxicity of my existence at times… through music, through writing, through just the deep spiritual feeling of being connected so intimately to my pain, and being able to direct it towards creative adventures.

7) I’m grateful for my ability to inflect. I’m grateful that that ability extends to others, and that I can help those I love the most, when they need it, with advice I may not always be able to take, but that I care enough to give, and that it helps.

I’m grateful to have survived everything that I have come through. All that had the potential to become of me that never did, all of those terrible situations that I was able to escape from. The fact that I was able to keep some spark of hope and dreams alive during the younger years, and that I wasn’t permenantly damaged by the events in my older ones. I’m grateful that my heart has not always lead me astray, but has often saved me, through the sheer power of its will.

9) I am grateful for the great diversity of our planet, and I’m grateful when I have the energy and the foresight to plan ahead and then be able to witness this diversity in action. I’m grateful for my travels, for what I see while I’m away, for what I survive, the close calls I escape, the awe, inspiration, and spirituality I feel. I am grateful for the presence of God in my darkest hours.

These are 9 things. I’m glad I put a limit on this, otherwise, I think I would have been able to get into a very detailed list. I was able to attach some things on the tails of others, but all in all, I have a lot to be thankful for, or grateful for, and these are probably just a handful of them.

What are you grateful for today? Can you make a list if your own? Does it make you feel better to have that down in front of you, to see the good things about your life, amongst whatever else you’re dealing with? Does it bring back good memories for you? Does it make you feel like there is a life worth living? Does it make you feel like your life has already been worth something, something other than what you thought it might have been? Do you feel like, with things like this, with possibilities like this, with things to be grateful for, you can make it through whatever your troubles are? They can be the smallest things possible. Like the fact that I am so utterly grateful for my ability to love and appreciate music – because making it or listening to it, music has saved my life, many, many times. Whatever you’re grateful for, I can only hope it multiplies and spreads and grows, into a million more things for you to love about your life.

[Via http://sundaygrace.wordpress.com]

california over all

Battling the Antichrist by Outlawing Microchips – an interesting piece written by a guy I presented with at a conference last year about crazzzy Christians trying to stop control of the Beast (damn him!)

Ted Leo and The Pharmacists playing a cover of Tears For Fears’ “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”

Stupid hipsters with their stupid food stamps

Sassy Gay Friend: Romeo & Juliet

Sassy Gay Friend: Hamlet

Sassy Gay Friend: Judge Jim Gray on the Six Groups That Benefit From Drug Prohibition. Oh wait, that’s got nothing to do with being sassy or gay. Or a friend. It’s worth a watch, nevertheless.

[Via http://welcometoflavorcountry.wordpress.com]

WARNING!!! FLUORIDE IS RAT POISON a Deadly Toxin...Our KIDS are Drinking, Washing, & Brushing W/ It!!! VIDEO

Story on Mystery Substance Distracts from Fact Fluoride is a Deadly Killer

Kurt Nimmo

Infowars.com

March 13, 2010

The “investigative” team at WCVB TV in Boston ran a story yesterday about an unknown substance in fluoride imported from China. “Team 5 Investigates found the Amesbury Water Department pulled fluoride from its system amid concerns about its supply from China,” the news station reported. “Department of Public Works Director Rob Desmarais said after he mixes the white powder with water, 40 percent of it will not dissolve.” Desmarais said the residue clogs his machines and makes it difficult to get a consistent level of fluoride in the town’s water.

In the video report below, WCVB mentions melamine in food products and the heavy metal cadmium in toys imported from China while completely ignoring the larger and more important issue — fluoride is an extremely dangerous toxin that kills.

“Fluoride is added to the water most of us drink because the government believes it’s a safe and inexpensive way to prevent tooth decay.”

Fluoride does not prevent tooth decay. According to numerous studies, water fluoridation actually increases tooth decay. The AMA and others fallaciously claim that fluoride added to over 62% of U.S. water supplies reduces tooth decay. However, no less than six studies from dental journals show it does not and, in fact, may increase the likelihood of dental cavities.

Exposure to fluoride often results in dental fluorosis. Large numbers of U.S. young people — estimated up to 80 percent in some cities — now have dental fluorosis, the first visible sign of excessive fluoride exposure. Dental fluorosis consists of damage to tooth-forming cells, leading to a defect in tooth enamel. It is also an indicator of fluoride damage to bones.

WCVB TV’s own report reveals that fluoride is a deadly chemical. Near the beginning of the video, we are shown an industrial sized bag of fluoride at the Amesbury Water Department. “Sodium Fluoride,” a label on the bag warns, “Danger! Poison-Toxic by Ingestion.” The label states the chemical targets the heart, kidneys, bones, central nervous system, the gastrointestinal system, and teeth.

Studies reveal fluoride also attacks the immune and respiratory systems. It negatively affects blood circulation and accumulates in the bones. It attacks thyroid function. Fluoride also accelerates aging. Austrian researchers proved in the 1970s that as little as 1 ppm fluoride concentration can disrupt DNA repair enzymes by 50%. When DNA can’t repair damaged cells, advanced aging occurs. Researchers from Harvard University and the National Institutes of Health knew in the 1960s that fluoride disrupted collagen synthesis and increased aging.

Instead of the in-your-face danger of fluoride presented in the “investigative” news report, the intrepid reporters at WCVB concentrate on the mystery substance from China and connect it to melamine and cadmium. Talk about missing the forest for the trees.

The fluoride added to 90% of drinking water is hydrofluoric acid which is a compound of fluorine that is a chemical byproduct of aluminum, steel, cement, phosphate, and nuclear weapons manufacturing. “In this form, fluoride has no nutrient value whatsoever. It is one of the most caustic of industrial chemicals. Fluoride is the active toxin in rat poisons and cockroach powder,” notes Prevent Disease.

Moreover, hydrofluoric acid is used to refine high octane gasoline, to make fluorocarbons and chlorofluorocarbons for freezers and air conditioners, and to manufacture computer screens, fluorescent light bulbs, semiconductors, plastics, herbicides, and remarkably toothpaste.

Fluoride is a big time neurotoxin. Substantial research reveals it results in widespread brain damage and learning disabilities. Extensive research on fluoride and the brain has been prompted by studies from China, India, Iran, and Mexico discovering that elevated levels of fluoride exposure are associated with IQ deficits in children.

“Repeated doses of infinitesimal amounts of fluoride will in time reduce an individual’s power to resist domination, by slowly poisoning and narcotizing a certain area of the brain, thus making him submissive to the will of those who wish to govern him,” the chemist Charles Perkins wrote to the Lee Foundation for Nutritional Research in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, on 2 October 1954.

Perkins explained how the Nazis exchanged ideas with the Russians on mass medication of a population through drinking water prior to invading Poland in 1939. “I was told of this entire scheme by a German chemist who was an official of the great IG Farben chemical industries and was also prominent in the Nazi movement at the time. I say this with all the earnestness and sincerity of a scientist who has spent nearly 20 years’ research into the chemistry, biochemistry, physiology and pathology of fluorine — any person who drinks artificially fluoridated water for a period of one year or more will never again be the same person mentally or physically.”

Both Nazi and Soviet concentration camps maintained fluoride administration to inmates to decrease resistance to authority.

However, of vital importance to our eugenics-minded rulers, fluoride has repeatedly been found to interfere with reproduction. “A few human studies suggested that high concentrations of fluoride exposure might be associated with alterations in reproductive hormones, effects on fertility, and developmental outcomes,” the National Research Council reported in 2006. In 1994, the Journal of Toxicology and Environmental Health published a study demonstrating a correlation between fluoride and reduced fertility and birth rates.

Fluoride is no longer confined to drinking water. According to the Agricultural Research Service, as of 2004 fluoride was present in 400 separate food and beverage items.

None of this was mentioned in the WCVB TV news report. Instead we are told to worry about melamine and cadmium, both certainly dangerous but nowhere approaching the threat level posed by massive fluoride poisoning.

As for the story researchers at WCVB TV, one has to wonder if maybe their cognitive ability to get to the bottom of the real story was seriously affected by a lifetime of fluoride ingestion.

[Via http://ctpatriot1970.wordpress.com]

I Don't Get Drunk. I Get Lit.

I had a realization this week.

Before I tell you what it is, though, I have to articulate why this is significant.  At least for me.

If I’ve had any extended conversation with you, you probably know that I’m not much of a partier.  I prefer a small group of friends at a coffee house or diner to the bar/club atmosphere.  I seldom drink (though when I do, it takes maybe two or three to turn me into a puking mess), and I’ve never been high (unless you count that time that, in a post-breakup haze, I was fed sleeping pills by my Gran and hallucinated a room full of Technicolor cobwebs emanating from the ceiling fan).

In scientific terms, I am Totally lame.

Pretty much, I feel that mood-altering substances are undesirable because they disrupt my cognizant perception of my surroundings, and interfere with my ability to act rationally.  And if there’s one thing I value, it’s my rationality.  If I decide to deviate from this and get drunk, it’s strictly social and in an atmosphere in which I feel secure.  And where the people will forgive me in the morning.

But what I’ve always disliked about drugs and alcohol is how people use them as a means to escape.  Had a really bad day?  Get smashed.  Girlfriend cheated on you?  Do some coke.  You just need to forget for a little while!

Except that…no.  It doesn’t help the situation, it just puts off a solution.  If anything, it’ll make things worse.

Since discovering that drinking can, in fact, be fun, I’ve relaxed on this position a bit.  I still cringe, though, every time I hear one of my friends talk about getting drunk to ease the effects of a shitty situation.

But I might be just as bad.

I’ve been slacking on my reading lately.  Other things have taken precedence, like Bioshock 2, the bread-baking kick I’ve been on, and generally having a social life.  Yet this week, amidst new-roommate worries and hair-pulling situations at work, I put all of that aside and picked up The Shining for a good, nostalgic re-read.

And it hit me.

Like a ton of bricks

I’m an escapist reader.

When the chips are down, I retreat to my nice, safe world of fiction.  It’s not just this week.  During the holidays, when I was losing my mind with stress, I devoured four books over two weeks.  And when I look back, it’s something I’ve always done, starting with my discovery of R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps series at the time of my parents’ divorce.

A library is to me what a crack den is to Amy Winehouse.

Why am I okay with this?

It’s always nagged at me that I read so much, when I could be out in the world experiencing more.  Shouldn’t I be sad that words on a page are more exciting than my actual life?

Rationalize, Mal, rationalize.

I value whatever bit of intelligence I am capable of exhibiting.  Hence my avoidance of activities that kill off brain cells – alcohol, drugs, and reality TV.  According to multiple sources, though, reading makes you smarter.

I know, duh, right?

But this isn’t confined to reading non-fiction, which will undoubtedly give you more information about the world.  Reading anything will make you sharper, expand your vocabulary, and hone your analytical skills (well, maybe not anything; we’ll have to cross off Twilight, as well as 90% of the Internet.  But anything else is fair game).  I can vouch that my thinking is clearer if I start my day off by reading a few pages, rather than hitting the snooze button five times.

So, if I want to maximize my understanding and perception of this world which I hope to explore, it’s not only my pleasure, but my duty to read as much as I can, right?  I mean, it’s one thing to see the Louvre, but another experience completely to be able to place its artifacts in proper historical and anecdotal context.

I’m not a literature-addicted shut-in.  I’m the intrepid traveler, belongings on my back and book in hand.

At least, that’s what I would like to think.

Reading also tends to relieve stress and mellow a person out.

Well, there you go.  That explains why my manner is so easygoing, and why new acquaintances always ask me if I’m a stoner.

But most importantly, I think, reading can show you things, desires and goals, that you never would have recognized in yourself otherwise.  In my literary adventures, I’ve collected a lengthy laundry list of places I want to see, and things I want to do (I vow, at some point in my life, to work with a traveling carnival in the Midwest).  Reading can spark feelings and ideas within you, from dark, uncharted corners of your psyche, that might never have seen daylight.

Don’t you see?  It’s your psychological duty to rescue these marooned inclinations from their desert island fates.  Pick up a volume of Burroughs, Rand, or Tolkien and enrich your existence!  Become intoxicated on the rich prose of Proust.  Hook up a literary IV, and nourish yourself with some Nabokov.

Whew!  Calm down, kid, before you hurt yourself.

Anyway, that’s the justification I’m putting forth for my disgusting acts of escapism.  I’m improving myself.  Yeah.  Suck on that.

What’s that?  You’re partying tonight?  I’ll just be here with my (::sunglasses::) book.

[Via http://malsies.wordpress.com]

I Hate to Break it to You, but Mary Jane is a Filthy Whore

Incredibly, these 2 guys weren't the least bit high when this was shot.

Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m going to be honest with you, because I like you. I work at a convenience store. More like an inconvenience store, but it’s only a temporary inconvenience. I will pretend it doesn’t bother me for the time being. I guess if it’s good enough for Kevin Smith, then it’s good enough for me and if the Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough for Cyndi Lauper, then I suppose they’re good enough for me. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Again, surprisingly not high. Except for Josh Brolin. He was probably high.

I could write blog upon blog upon screenplay upon book upon suicide note about all the crazy/annoying shit that happens on a nightly basis at the living hell that is my workplace, but for the purpose of this entry, I will stick to just one of the things that annoys me about my job. It’s something that has bothered me for a long time, but being a clerk has kind of put the microscope on it that much more often.

I hate t-shirts that glorify pot smoking.

This is one of the better ones and I still couldn't see myself wearing it.

I don’t give a shit if you smoke pot. I used to smoke pot. Most of us have. It’s not a big deal. And that’s exactly why you don’t need to announce to the world that you do so by wearing a silly t-shirt–usually one of those oh so funny ones that uses a famous brand name and/or logo and replaces it with a word or a pot leaf that lets everyone know just how edgy you are. McDoobies? Pot Milk? Marijuana-Mart? Weed Thins? Sativa Night Live? All so brilliant. Ugh. Do we really need more proof that marijuana destroys your brain cells with the delicacy of Hitler? I mean, c’mon. You don’t think the people that make these shirts are straight edge, do you? Are you even reading this right now, or are you riding a flying liger to Jupiter? Snap out of it, Smokey. Nobody gives a shit about your “hobby”. I don’t really care about the glorifying pot part so much. I just hate stupid t-shirts.

If I had to guess, in Hawaii (my home state) alone, I’d say 2/3 of people, if not more, smoke the sticky icky at least occasionally. I’d be willing to bet that as many people smoke pot in Hawaii as listen to Bob Marley. (By the way, on a side note, Bob Marley shirts have just about jumped the iron lion shark in Zion, too. Certain Bob shirts can slide, like the awesome one I got for 4 bucks on eBay that’s very understated and also features Bunny Livingston and Peter (McIn)Tosh, which makes it way cooler and far more authentic than the average BM garment. But most of the shirts featuring the undisputed legend are gaudy and disposable. {Oh shit. Now I fear that any heavy pot smokers reading this post will try to put their shirts down a garbage disposal. I don’t have the patience to explain to them what I mean by “disposable”. Just die instead.} Case in point: somebody walked in wearing a shitty Bob Marley tee the other day and my co-worker immediately knew which store the dirty hippie had purchased {or bartered for some “wicked rad, totally mellow, but still organic incense, bro” and/or awesome homemade bracelets “made with love”} the shirt/future cum rag from. Lawda mercy.) And pretty much everybody in Hawaii listens to Bob Marley. I swear to Jah.

Stop. You'll never be as cool as these guys. Just get over it.

There was a time when smoking pot was a pretty cool thing. Back when stoner films such as Up In Smoke may as well have been dubbed in Russian, because your parents had no idea what the hell everyone was talking about. But nowadays, even your mom smokes buddha. The soccer dad next door puffs that la. Your algebra teacher from high school dabbles in the dro. Even though I have no personal problem with smoking weed, it’s actually become a much cooler thing to say that you don’t smoke it. It’s just become too fucking popular. And yet I see a handful of customers enter my living nightmare clad in sparkly t-shirts proclaiming their profound love for all things pakalolo on a daily basis. (Pakalolo is the Hawaiian word for “marijuana”, which is funny because “lolo” means stupid. It literally translates to “the plant that makes you a complete dumbass when you smoke it…oh, and you’ll probably want to get some Cheetos while you’re at it. Those things are amazing. Did you hear an echo?”)

Vampire Weekend: Proof that awesome music can be made by guys who are not high on drugs or their own egos.

The only things that feel really cool to me anymore are things that are totally basic, but not very popular, or obscure parts of semi-popular things or obscure things in general that are only popular among really cool people, or the occasional popular thing that just so happens to be super awesome (see: Vampire Weekend). Marijuana doesn’t fall into any of those categories. Coming into 7-Eleven at 2 in the morning and staring at snacks for 15 minutes is not cool and neither is smoking pot. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s not cool either. It’s just a thing. A very popular thing. And we don’t feel the need to wear shirts that tell people we love those other really popular things.

So much better than pot.

That’s the best argument I can think of. It’s very simple. Pot has become as mainstream as alcohol. Even though marijuana is a specific type of drug, it’s still somehow super basic. It’s like a shirt saying “Drugs”. No one wears shirts saying “alcohol”. I don’t think Jack Daniels shirts are particularly cool either, but even those are cooler than an Ed Hardy ripoff shirt that instead says “Dred Party” and features a picture of a spliff that’s big enough to make Cheech & Chong comatose. Wearing a shirt that tells the world you love pot is like wearing a shirt telling people that you enjoy eating food. I would think that was stupid, too and I fucking love food! Wearing a shirt with a pot leaf on it is like wearing a shirt with a slice of meatloaf on it. (If you like meatloaf)

Not high. Just borderline criminally insane. But in a good way.

I’m wearing a Dunder Mifflin shirt right now, so I reserve the right to tell you how idiotic you look wearing a marijuana-hyping parody shirt. In my day, we just smoked pot. We didn’t talk about it. The coolest thing about it was how awesome it made Pink Floyd and Type O Negative sound. We didn’t need shirts. We had conversations. And music. And conversations about music. We didn’t talk about the pot or tell people we smoked pot. We’d just smoke it and then do stuff that was actually awesome, or stuff that would be normally really boring unless you were smoking pot.

Quiksta. He smokes the bombudd.

I will say one thing though, in defense of pot-ularizing marijuana: For some reason it still sounds cool (sometimes) when (some) people sing about smoking pot. It has worked wonders for DJ Quik, People Under the Stairs, Tom Petty and countless others. But talking about it ad nauseam, or wearing a hat or shirt em-blaze-oned with a pot logo or homage is played out like Cross Colours. It would be cooler to wear a shirt paying homage to heroin, cocaine or pcp at this point. And much bolder, too. Saying you smoke pot is about as edgy as admitting to downloading music illegally. Actually, that would be a lot edgier in 2010.

You don't NEED pot to enjoy Cpt. Beefheart, but it don't hurt.

Ah yes. Your sweet little Mary Jane used to be there whenever you needed a good time. She was fun and innocent. She’d come over every now and then and wouldn’t get too clingy. She smelled so sweet and always felt so good on your lips. With each breath you took in her presence, you’d fall more in love. But now Mary Jane is far too available and has spread herself way too thin. She’s the popular chick now. The skanky one. When you invite her over everyday, she becomes a problem. Not to mention the fact that she’s hanging out with everyone you know. Mary Jane is a slut now. She’s not something you wear as a badge of honor. She’s become a guilty pleasure. Smoking pot is like listening to the Backstreet Boys, or eating Pop Tarts for “dinner”. I would say she’s a “dark, dirty secret”, but there’s nothing secret about it anymore, which is why you should take those shirts off and burn them. If they’re made out of hemp, enjoy the sweet aromas and throw on some Captain Beefheart. Then put on a tie-dyed t-shirt instead. Even those are cooler than shirts about weed. Especially if it’s dyed with the blood of Cheech and the urine of Chong. Let your freak flag fly like a gay pride bumper sticker. Just don’t do it while wearing one of those silly t-shirts. It’s time to grow up there, Sparky.

Those days have gone up in smoke.

[Via http://sprsncyth.wordpress.com]

meh with a bit of meh thrown in there

if by when the train comes you’re not here, i’m going to get on it. every time she walks down the street she glances back to see if i am looking. i am, i cannot help it.

Last night i had two dreams about you. or maybe you were in my dream twice. you seemed happy, you were smiling both times. i never see you do that. also, in one of the times, you were jogging, but you weren’t as skinny. you looked gorgeous. and you didn’t see me but you were smiling to yourself like you liked yourself and i thought that was brilliant because you never seem to like yourself.

if you touched me right now i would dissolve into millions of pieces. if i ever see you in real life, i will muster up the courage to tell you how perfect we are for each other. if i can’t, then i will drink a lot and then tell you. if you reject me i will be even happier. no one will ever love me like you do in my head.

tomorrow is going to be a shit day. without you, shittier. but maybe I’ll meet you at that party i’m going to. beach party? in 8 degree weather? that sounds like the type of shit you’d be into.

so i heard about this antidepressant that is not an ssri and it doesn’t kill your libido or hunger. i will be talking to my doctor about that. also, keep yuour fingers crossed for no lithium prescription. tomorrow i have a class that i haven’t attended more than once: we have a midterm next week i believe. fuckin a.  i am really considering going home for a long time this summer. mostly because my summer plans kind of went to the shitter and i dont have any money to stay. or  a job. i also miss my mum. everything that’s happened lately is rough.

I’ve been thinking about what could have triggered my bipolarism. i have no clue, it just started acting up over the summer. then i i read an article that said people have no fucking clue why bipolar people are bipolar. and that 25% of us commit suicide. i also think that before being bipolar i was unipolar. i didn’t think more bullshit names existed for depression, but i was wrong.

do you think it’s crazy if i want my life to be a TV show? i don’t even care which one.

no, more like this one:

[Via http://filthyfrenchthings.wordpress.com]

As simple as it gets, in 8 minutes, Judge Jim Gray explains why the war on drugs must end via Reddit

“The Minister of Health of Holland held a press conference and said,’We, in our country, have only half of the marijuana consumption per capita as you do in the United States of America both for adults and for teenagers’…then he went on to explain why. You know what he said? He said, ‘We have succeeded in making pot boring.’ People supporting the status quo are on the wrong side of history.”

[Via http://jkdanh.wordpress.com]

Longevity secrets of France's invalid writer Voltaire - part 7

Was Voltaire’s dyspepsia really due to the illness, or to all of the purgatives with which he treated himself?  From a young age, he got into the habit of taking up to eight medicines and twelve enemas a month.

During his trip to England, he discovered a perfected machine for taking enemas.  He was delighted.  “It is a chef-d’oeuvre of the art!”  he exclaimed.  “You can put it in your gusset and use it when and where you like, you can use it all the time and wherever you are.”

Cassia and rhubarb were his favourite remedies, to which he added soap enemas.  On this subject, something amusing happened while he was in Prussia as the guest of Frederic.

From Berlin, Voltaire had asked the king to give him permission to visit the different German courts.  The monarch ordered a general, Count de Chazot, to accompany him and to pay for all of his travelling expenses.

Upon his return, the Count presented the bill to Frederic.  The first article was a fairly hefty sum “for soap enemas at two kreutzers each” taken by Voltaire during the trip.

“What is this?”  cried Frederic.  “What apothecary’s bill are you presenting me with here?”

“Sire,” replied Chazot.  “I will not deduct one denier for Your Majesty; for my bill is of the greatest exactitude.”

And the king had to pay it.

Another remedy which Voltaire used frequently was Stahl powder.  He obtained the prescription from King Stanislas, Duke of Lorraine.  We know the formula for this powder, which is a mixture of potassium sulfate, potassium nitrate and red sulphur of mercury.  This powder was taken in pill form.

In 1747, Voltaire sent a message to Frederic:  “I am tempted to believe that the Stahl pills would do some good to the King of Prussia;  they were invented in Berlin and they have almost cured me of late.”  Two days later, he wrote to the same sovereign, now his friend:  “I haven’t yet found anything which does me more good than the real Stahl pills, and we have only bad copies in Paris…  I beg Y.  M. to be so gracious as to send me a pound of Stahl pills… “

Upon which, Frederic answered:  “There would be enough to purge the whole of France with the pills you ask of me, and enough to kill your three academies [the Academy of Medecine did not yet exist];  do not imagine that these pills are sweets:  you would be mistaken…  I have ordered d’Arget to send you the pills, which have such a big reputation in France and which the late Stahl used to have made by his coachman.  The only people here who use them are pregnant women.”

The Prussian king knew how to turn an epigram.  Doctor Frederic was giving a lesson to Patient Voltaire.

In 1736, Voltaire had only just entered into relations with Frederic, when the king started worrying about Voltaire’s indispositions, taking upon himself to seek medical advice for the writer, and begging him not to give him continual alarms by his frequent health problems.  “Your Royal Highness,”  wrote Voltaire.  “Is too good to have consulted doctors for me and to be gracious enough to send me a recipe which is better than all of their prescriptions.”

This recipe is contained in the post-scriptum of one of the king’s letters to his chamberlain:  “I have a bit of amber for Cirey and I have some Hungarian wine which, I have been told, will be a balm for my friend’s health.”

Although Voltaire drank moderately – a demi-setier of wine at each meal is more than he needs -  he likes to have excellent vintages, which his guests know how to appreciate.  As for himself, he sticks to burgundy, or corton, which he tries to get as cheaply as possible.

The wine sent to him by the king is appreciated by him more for the thought than for the wine itself.  He answered as usual by increased flattery.  “I only have confidence in doctors,” he wrote to Frederic.  “Since Your Royal Highness is the Aesculape who is gracious enough to watch over my health.”

The advice given to him by the king was not always to his taste, however.  In answer to certain rather libertine offers, Voltaire declared to him “that he needed furs in summer, and not girls, and that he needed a good bed, but for himself alone, a seringe and the King of Prussia”.

The king was extremely attentive.  If Voltaire had a temperature, he sent him the best quinquina that he could find.  Was there a dish which pleased him, he was instantly served it.  But what did Voltaire think of all of these favours?

“Digestion is the biggest point.  When I have a colic, I chase away all of the kings in the universe.  I have given up these divine suppers and find myself a little better for it.”  The king had to leave him “entire liberty” to sup alone at home or not to sup, when he felt even more ill.  Thanks to this tightening of his diet, he declared himself to be tormented less by his bowel problems and no longer held his abdomen with both hands.

But he had another problem.  He said that he was suffering from sciatic gout which kept him in his room, at a bad inn in Lyon.  He left this town shortly after, and went, all crippled, to the Prangins chateau, in the canton of Vaud, where “he waits for the end of a life filled with suffering”, in the hope “of going soon to the Aix baths”.

Unable to go, he fell back on drinking the mineral waters of Prangins, which he declared superior to the Forges waters, of which he definitely had a bad memory.

Eighth part tomorrow.

[Via http://marilynkaydennis.wordpress.com]

Illegal substances

Sweden has very hard laws prohibiting narcotics and steroids. There is also almost no debate in about the possibility of legalizing drugs such as marihuana for medical use ether. Enforcement of the laws varies form of widespread drug testing, and penalties ranging from rehabilitation treatment, fines, and up to a 10-year in prison. Also a report by the UNODC lauded Sweden for having one of the lowest drug usage rates in the western world, however According to the European Monitoring Centre for Drugs and Drug Addiction in 2005 the rate of drug-related deaths per capita in Sweden was more than twice that of the Netherlands.

However I don’t agree with Sweden’s drug laws, I believe that marijuana should be legal both fore recreational and medical use, but when it comes to heavier narcotics my thoughts are thorn… if it were legal it would take a lot of the funding away from criminal organizations, but it could increase the abuse. And even thou Sweden see itself as a country in the forefront on the fight on drugs, I know a lot of people have tried illegal drugs and almost everyone know how to get drugs.

[Via http://kevinrov.wordpress.com]

Longevity secrets of France's invalid writer Voltaire - part 5

Up until the age of fifty, Voltaire’s stomach will be the seat of his tortures, the source of all his apprehensions.

He started talking about his bad digestion from 1720, at the age of twenty-six.  Three years later, he wrote to one of his correspondents that “his health and his business affairs are in an incredibly delapidated state [...] that he is so ill that his pen is dropping from his hand”.

That is when, on the advice of people who had benefited from it, he thought about taking the waters at Forges on his way back from his first trip to Holland, where he went as an exile, and where he led “a life of dissipation, which went as far as disorder”.  He had hoped that the Forges waters would restore his health but, far from being successful, they tired him more.

“I won’t take waters again,” he declared.  “They do me a lot more ill than they do me good.  There is more vitriol in a bottle of Forges water than in a bottle of ink.”  Which didn’t stop him from returning to these same waters the following year.

He started to feel better, but the amelioration didn’t last and, with his habitual exaggeration, he declared that these waters were more than harmful.  “The Forges waters have killed me,” he wrote to a friend.  At most, their prolonged use would have made his dyspepsia worse.

This is when he decided to treat himself with whey.  However, almost at the same time, he called in a doctor who made him take cinnamon essence, while another doctor prescribed something entirely different.  In the end, he didn’t know which drug to take.

On the advice of Mme de Bernieres, he decided to consult Silva, the fashionable doctor to see at the time, the doctor for delicate dispositions.  The oracle assured him that “the pieces of an iron ball were as good as the whole ball”, and that there is nothing better for the digestion.  Voltaire was weak enough to believe the oracle but, after experimenting, he gave up this weird digestive remedy and recognized that “diet is better than all the balls in the world [...]“.

“Health has at last been given back to me,” he wrote joyfully to Mme de Bernieres.  “I have found my gaiety again [...].  I warn you, my dear queen, that Mr de Gervasi and all the doctors of the Faculty of Medicine will be of no use to you, if you do not have a strict diet, and with this diet you will be able to do marvellously well without the waters… “.

However, Voltaire cried victory too soon.  This calm will be short-lived.

Sixth part tomorrow.

[Via http://marilynkaydennis.wordpress.com]

Making A Killing: The Untold Story of Psychotropic Drugging

Psychotropic drugs. It’s the story of big money-drugs that fuel a $330 billion psychiatric industry, without a single cure.

The cost in human terms is even greater-these drugs now kill an estimated 42,000 people every year.

And the death count keeps rising. Containing more than 175 interviews with lawyers, mental health experts, the families of victims and the survivors themselves, this riveting documentary rips the mask off psychotropic drugging and exposes a brutal but well-entrenched money-making machine. Before these drugs were introduced in the market, people who had these conditions would not have been given any drugs at all.

So it is the branding of a disease and it is the branding of a drug for a treament of a disease that did not exist before the industry made the disease.

WATCH IT HERE

[Via http://freeviewdocumentaries.com]

An Open Letter to the People & Government of Ireland

To Whom It May Concern:

I feel compelled to write this as again it is in the headlines about the miss-treatment of the young people of our country. In the Dáil today there was a debate about the publicising of the report into the death of the tragic Tracey Fay. Tracey was a girl with a troubled background who eventually made it into the care system and died as a result. Last September the RTE programme Prime Time reported on her case and the deaths of a total of 20 young people in care in the last ten years. On this programme Minister Barry Andrews the Minister for Children spoke about the improvements that have since been made and inferred that a case like Tracey’s could never happen again.

Having worked on the periphery of the services that deal with cases like Tracey’s I can categorically say that this is not true. They system that is being talked about is that of ‘Out of Hours’. The Out of Hours system deals with young people whose care or home placements have broken down and there is not a suitable mainstream placement available. It is intended to be an emergency system but in reality young people can end up spending months and in some cases years within it.

The heart of this system is a social work placement service which is facilitated through Garda stations. It requires the young ‘out-of-home’ person to present at a Garda station after 8pm and request to be placed by Out of Hours (OOH). The Gardaí then ring the OOH social work team and inform them of the young person requiring placement. The team then come and assess the young person and if it is not feasible for them to return home they are placed in emergency accommodation. For the over twelve’s this takes two forms: a new residential unit in Donabate, North Co. Dublin, which provides 24hr emergency care to ‘new presenters’ (that is any young person that has not been though the OOH system before) and a hostel in Dublin city centre which provides shelter from 8pm until 9.30am.

The logic behind the 9.30am ‘check-out’ time is that young people of this age should be attending school. However, if a young person’s life is in so much chaos that they arrive in the OOH system it is reasonable to expect that they are not attending school. This means that during the hours of 9.30am and 8pm these children have nothing to do but roam the streets of Dublin. In the past there were drop-in centres for these young people to attend but the same attending school logic removed these services. In their place was put an appointment only keyworking service which also provides lunch from 12-1pm. To make up for this lack of services children between the ages of 12-17 can be given a social welfare type payment at the discretion of their social worker. This is in the region of €30-€60 per week. How anyone can feel that this is a means of caring for these vulnerable children one is never to know. This system leaves children wandering the streets of Dublin city with nothing else to do but get in trouble. It can, and does, lead to crime, drug abuse and prostitution. It also leaves children vulnerable to predators and the negative influence of the adult homeless (many of whom are a product of the same system).

How can a wealthy country (and even in this current recession we are wealthy) justify treating its young in this way is beyond me. Minister Andrews speaks of the difficulty of providing care for the ‘challenging’ children; however, if the interventions were put in earlier it may never have got to that point for many of the young people. Tracey Fay was identified by the health services when she was 8 months old. She was not taken into care until she was 14 years old. I was astounded when the Prime Time programme came out in September and what I had known for a long time was now in the public domain yet the massive outcry and demand for reform that I expected did not happen. What does this say about our society? Do we not care? Are we that self absorbed that children being left to rot in a seriously dysfunctional system does not concern us? I call on the people of Ireland to speak out; to tell their friends, neighbours, colleagues and the government that this is not acceptable, that we will stand for this no longer, and that there must be change. Tell me, do you care enough?

[Via http://niamhfeeney.wordpress.com]

Eat Fresh!

     When I was 18, I started to head the route of college by enrolling myself at the local university in my hometown. I declared graphic design as my major and started taking classes, one of which included typography. I went for exactly one month before I decided that I’d rather kill myself than trace fonts on sketch paper six hours each week for an entire semester. No, really, I tried to kill myself; I’ve got the hospital records to prove it. It was that bad. After some further psychological evaluation, I was cleared to be on my own again. Yeah, you heard me correctly. The hospital deemed me sane enough to enter back into society. Now you’ll know who to blame when I take over the world and force all of the stupid people to get red “X” tattoos on their foreheads. Hey, it’s a fantastic idea; my aim is much better when there’s a target.

     I decided after my brush with death that either I really needed to study up on effective suicide methods, or I needed to figure out what it was that made me happy. Considering the fact that I had already eaten my entire bottle of Costco-sized Ibuprofin and secret hoard of Vicodin the week before, I chose the latter and did what any single white 18-year-old female looking for stability did: I jumped ship and moved to New York City. From Idaho. With $400 in my bank account. Even at a young age I must have been a master manipulator to get my parents to go along with this; my Mom is pretty much a free and encouraging spirit, but my Dad just recently came to terms with the fact that I am no longer a virgin, so you can imagine how hard it was to give his seal of approval. He’ll tell you that moving to NYC was the worst decision I’ve ever made because that’s where I discovered cocaine. I say it was the best decision I’ve ever made because I learned so much about life. Plus, that’s where I discovered cocaine.

     One late night, I was riding in the subway with my three female roommates. As usual, we were slightly inebriated and giggling as if we had just watched a stranger viciously club George Bush in the back of the head, when Becky stopped abruptly and stared directly behind me with a look of horror on her face. I sensed her sudden change in mood and instinctively turned my head to see what could possibly have ruined her jovial mood.

     “Tsk!” She reprimanded suddenly to catch my attention. When I looked back at her, she slowly leaned into me and, with a whisper, said, “Whatever you do, do not turn around.”

     Whenever anyone tells you to not turn around, what do you do? You turn around. She could have told me that the most repulsive thing in the world was behind me and I would have turned around. Even if she said that Roseanne Barr and Tom Arnold were giving each other sweaty fellatio right next to me, I would have looked. Oh god. Just thinking about that made me vomit a little in my mouth. Sorry, give me a second to compose myself and I’ll continue. C’mon Miki, think good thoughts…Ryan Reynolds naked circa Amityville Horror. Brad Pitt beating the shit out of Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith and then fucking her on the broken debris. Telling Heidi Montag she’s fat. Ok, I’m back. I apologize.

     I think you get the gist of it: I turned around. And there it was. Not within the vicinity of my face, not near my face, not even close to my face; right in my fucking face. An Asian dick. No, not Jet Li, like an actual Asian penis. The first and only one I’ve ever seen. Within cumshot of my eye. There’s nothing like a midnight subway flasher to sober you right up. I didn’t know what to do so I gasped, turned my head and shrank away to the left. I hoped that it was all just a figment, a miniscule figment at that, of my imagination. Well, it wasn’t, but thankfully the dude got off at the next stop, where I proceeded to yell, “That dude just put his dick in my face!” repeatedly while pointing in his direction. Thankfully, we weren’t the only intoxicated group on the train, and some man’s man ran off to chase him. I’m hoping it was to kick the shit out of him, and not to get a piece of that action.

     I was shaken, but I recovered quickly and soon I was back to myself, slightly less innocent after being exposed to the cruel reality that was the underground New York City Asian pecker flashers. If Jared tried this form of the Subway diet, I’m sure that he would lose more weight; this 6-incher, make that 3, would make anyone lose their appetite.

[Via http://oomikioo.wordpress.com]

Oh no!

It seems I have lost the ability to get drunk.

This will not do.

So, I said I’d give it up. It lasted a month. I just want to feel some chemical joy. Let me pretend that my laughs are real and that I am jolly and the life of the party. Let me pretend that I am comfortable talking to people and that I have no fears.

Let me be the fierce woman my peers seem to think I am when I swager out with the boys, bottle in hand and belt out some crazy Rock Band vocals.

Let me escape my mundane world.

[Via http://bittercupgonemad.wordpress.com]

Happy Anniversary To Me

Four years ago today, I started the original Oz’s Funhouse blog over at Blogger.com. And while I did take more than three years off starting on November 22 of that year, I suppose this is technically the fourth anniversary of the debut. To celebrate, I plan on downing a couple of “Hillbilly Mimosas.” E.G., drink an entire bottle of champagne in one go, wash it down with a pint of orange juice, and repeat. Ahh, sweet nectar.

Alright, so I do that every weekend morning. Maybe a few weekdays, too. What of it? Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? It doesn’t make me an alcoholic either, if that’s what you’re thinking. For one thing, alcoholics go to meetings. For another, they’ll drink anything. I, on the other hand, only partake of the finest spirits.

Anyhow, thanks for ruining my anniversary celebration with your bullshit guilt trip; I’ll be sure to poop on your cake the next time your birthday rolls around.

[Via http://oswaldcarver.wordpress.com]

The Devil's Drug

Woe to the CHDer who develops an arrhythmia. (irregular heart beat) The problem is, it seems we all develop one sooner or later, and the choices we have to combat it are limited. Certainly pacemakers and ICDs are available, but those are expensive. So is an ablation; so often, we start with a drug regimen.

One of the best Antiarrhythmia drugs is Amiodarone, because it can control the irregular beats fairly well and there is less of a chance of a proarrhythmia. A proarrhythmia is a new or more frequently occurring arrhythmia that is triggered by the use of antiarrhythmia drugs. It’s diabolical – using the drugs that can calm down an irregular heartbeat can actually cause more irregular beats!

Oh, boy.

Amiodarone is pretty good about not causing proarrhythmia, but that is probably it’s one positive factor. Dr. Rich is convinced that Satan himself invented it – it’s that nasty!

For the drug to become effective, it has to saturate the body. So at first you are given a “loading dose” – a high dosage of the medication to get the patient to the proper level of the drug in their blood quickly.

Most of the time a drug is eliminated through the bloodstream, taken to the kidneys where it is filtered out, and the eliminated through the body’s natural waste disposal system. Not Amiodarone, no sir. The only way you get rid of it is by getting rid of cells. That’s a naturally occurring process, but it is slow and you can’t speed it up. Sometimes it takes a year for the Amio to completely clear your system.

And while it is in your system, it sets up shop in every organ of your body.

Possible liver damage? Yep!

Possible lung damage? Got you covered!

Thyroid damage? Amio is on top of that, too! In fact, you know that rough spot on the bottom of your left foot… well, you probably can’t blame Amiodarone for that one.

But every year you are on the drug, you’ll be visiting your eye doctor for an examination. Not the usual eye exam, mind you, but he’ll be looking for deposits in your eyes caused by the drug.

And you’ll have a lung function test every year, also. You’ll sit in a small walled in area that looks like a phone booth with a plastic tube in front of you. You’ll be asked blow as hard as possible into the tube, blow, blow, come’on empty your lungs! Then you’ll inhale as much as possible; you’ll hold your breath then blow it out – several different lung exercises. You’ll want to bring a friend with you – there’s no reason that you can’t drive home yourself, but you’ll be exhausted from the exercises. And they’ll repeat this test every year to make sure that your lungs aren’t being damaged by the Amiodarone.

If you haven’t guessed, this stuff isn’t very usuer friendly. There are newer drugs available that do not cause proarrhythmia (Yay!) and do not have the side effects of Amio (Yay again!) but isn’t as effective. (Aw, man!)

So if this drug is recommended to you by your doctor, you probably do need it. But have a long, honest discussion with your physician about the benefits and side effects of Amiodarone.

[Via http://tricuspid.wordpress.com]

March 2nd SAMHSA National Methamphetamine Webinar on LGBT Log-in Information

Source: SAMHSA email 2/25/10

LGBT Populations and Meth: Updates for Addressing Challenges and Maximizing Opportunities

Date and Time: 3/2/2010 – 12:00pm to 1:30 pm (Mountain)

Description:

The LGBT Populations and Methamphetamine Webinar will include updates on research, treatment, and efforts on state and territory levels to address challenges and identify opportunities for work with LGBT populations around methamphetamine and substance abuse. Highlights will include an overview of data and research issues; results of a national survey regarding availability and accessibility of LGBT substance abuse services; research summary regarding substance abuse trends among gay men and non-gay identified men who have sex with men; information about Getting Off: A Behavioral Treatment Intervention For Gay and. Bisexual Male Methamphetamine Users; unique issues surrounding substance abuse and transgender individuals including barriers for services and research and recommendations; an overview of substance abuse and lesbian and bisexual women including barriers and recommendations; and an examination of psycho-cultural conditions for LGBT individuals and substance abuse.

Webinar Details

This webinar will provide both an online presentation and telephone audio.  We recommend that you log on to the webinar at least 5 minutes prior to the scheduled start time.  Please note that to participate in the web presentation you may be prompted to download software.  To ensure full access to both the web presentation and telephone audio, please follow the directions below:

To Join The Web Presentation

1. Go to https://www.mymeetings.com/nc/join/

2. Enter Log-in Information (below)

3. Click “Start Now”.

4. Follow the instructions that appear on your screen.

Meeting #: PW1746984

Passcode: 7892434

Audio Dial-in Information

Dial-in: 800-369-3338

Passcode: 7892434#

[Via http://picnewswire.wordpress.com]

Chew On These Numbers

Chew on these numbers.  While you do, remember YOUR health is YOUR responsibility.  If you continue to not take care of your nervous system through specific chiropractic care, if you continue to eat the same crap food that “everyone” else is eating, if you continue to chose not to exercise because you are “too” busy, then don’t be surprised when you become one the the U.S. Health Care Numbers.  You don’t get sick- You “DO” sick.

U.S. Health Care By the Numbers

—        $2 Trillion Dollars a Year Spent on Health Care (The size of the economy of China)

—        Taxpayers pay for 44% of this

—        16-20% of GDP

—        GM $5.2 Billion on Health Care ($1600 for every car)

—        US Consumers more dissatisfied with their care than other nations

—        ~50 million uninsured

—        34% of Americans believe medicine can cure any illness as long as people have access to advanced technology and treatment

—        $6,100 per person spent on health care

—        Health premiums have risen 98% since 2000

—        Medical bills are leading cause of bankruptcy in US

—        1/5 of Americans have medical debt they are paying off

—        70% is spent on Chronic illness

—        Cardio and Stroke–$210 billion

—        Cancer–$192 billion

—        Diabetes–$92 billion

—        Obesity-Related–$75 billion

—        Arthritis–$22 billion

—        $1 out of every $6 goes to health care.  It is estimated to grow to $1 out of $5 by 2015.

—        Will grow to $12,320 per person in 2015, almost double the 2005 figure of $6,683.

—        May grow to $4 trillion in ten years.

—        Medicare hospital insurance will become insolvent by 2019.

—        5% of sickest Medicare beneficiaries account for 47% of Medicare expenditures

—        During the last six months of life, the average number of doctor visits is 41.5 in New Jersey; 17 in Utah.

—        For each illness studied, higher mortality rates were found in the regions with the most intense care.

—        According to the WHO, in terms of life expectancy, the United Stateslags far behind most other comparable nations.

—        US ranks 28th in infant mortality among 39 industrialized nations.

—        Compared with 30 other countries, the United States has the highest incidence of all cancers

—        The United States ranks 37th according to WHO’s assessment of health care systems throughout the world.

—        Americans receive on 55% of needed care (RAND)

—        The Institute of Medicine states medical errors account for at least 100,000 deaths per year.

—        Others such as Null et al have been more critical asserting that:

—        The number of unnecessary medical and surgical procedures performed annually is 7.5 million.

—        The number of people exposed to unnecessary hospitalization annually is 8.9 million.

—        The total number of iatrogenic deaths is 783,936 annually

—        Leape of Harvard estimated that in the United States 180,000 people die each year as a result of iatrogenic injury. The equivalent of three jumbo-jet crashes every two days.

—        195,000 people die each year in hospitals due to preventable errors

—        Other Estimates range from 225,000 – 284,000 deaths

—        One million error related non fatal injuries yearly

—        Negligence or errors in diagnosis account for 30-40% of malpractice payments

—        18 types of errors account for 32,600 deaths and $9.3 Billion in extra costs

—        Preventable drug related errors in OP’s cost $77 billion yearly

—        Doctors spend ½ – 1/3 of time on paperwork

—        Admin costs are 30% of all health care spending

—        According to Public Citizen, medical malpractice kills approximately 80,000 people per year.

—        Public Citizen stated that if this number is correct than medical malpractice is the 3rd leading cause of preventable death in theUnited States just behind cigarettes and alcohol.

—        Only about 15% of medical interventions are supported by scientific evidence…This is partly because only 1% of the articles in medical journals are scientifically sound

Get responsible for your health,

Dr. Vince Hassel

Wellness Expert

[Via http://hasselfamilychiropractic.wordpress.com]

The Complacency Compound

Everything is real. The view outside the window. Those are really mountains. The books on the shelves were pressed in Toronto, New York, London, San Francisco. The gallon jug of water on the credenza is to help hydrate the first night – the Crossover – the slow and painless descent into the Numb you will feel for the remainder of your natural life.

–

Against the rules, I am brought through this world – as a tourist, as a vigilante, as a prisoner – to see and experience it firsthand. No one wonders. No one reads those books. There are CDs, tapes, records and the machines and speakers to play them, but the only sound in the air is that of footsteps. All the people here move slowly, deliberately, with purpose. The restaurant has servers that bring you food, just like Outside.

Interest is against the Rules.

Creativity is against the Rules.

Even the vehicles are real.

The resident rooms are mostly the same. When one arrives, they have a preprogrammed roommate. He will say that he is from a small village in Western China, on the banks of the Nu River, which is the Salween downstream in Burma, or whatever they call it these days. He will say that he trades stones and handmade ornaments for American baseball cards.

He is an American, caucasian. An overweight twelve-year-old from Indiana, Kansas, Southern Illinois with a corresponding accent. China is his story though, and he does not know that it is not true, and the newcomer never questions it. There is no reason for it to not be true, so it is (this is how They judge how fit one is to be released into ’society’).

–

I spend my last coherent evening in this room thinking about the future I could have had. Who was I out there?

The first thing They seem to take away is the ability to feel strongly, passionately about anything. I was a poet. A photographer. I traveled to countries where I could not speak the language, just to find out what would happen when I tried to communicate. There was a girl out there. I was supposed to see her today – her name was Katie. We would have driven far into the mountains, or to South America, just for fun. We would have drunk bottles of Shiraz, or Sauvignon blanc, watched a film, laid in bed philosophizing between endless minutes of kissing, or comfortable silence, body worship. I think I loved her. And she will never know that, because I am in this place, and I do not need such things anymore.

The Indiana-China boy is rattling off his story. He is told to shut up, is ignored, and finally he goes to sleep. There is something in my head that is trying to crawl out -

…on the roof, as we tap our heels about -

smiles abound…

and I am speaking aloud, to the walls. The sound flutters between them and is ugly. It bothers me only for a moment. I’m a bit tired. What was I saying? I was telling the Chinese boy something. Maybe not.

Lie down on the white cotton sheet bed. Close your eyes. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and everything will be okay.

–

You won’t think about war, death, or love. You will feel, of course, happiness and productivity and accomplishment. Teamwork will make you stronger. We encourage the sharing of peaceful stories – stories of simple things. The pleasant breakfast you had in Cafeteria this morning. The fairness of yesterday’s match. A successful day at the Council Office.

–

I have been shown this world and it is a mistake. It is a crime against Human Nature to breathe this air – this manufactured, cloudcreating air – to feel this constant ease. Passion and wonder are enemies here. The gentleman with the subtle and charming British accent (forever implacable for he never says much at one time) will approach us. He will be carrying a syringe that will represent the end of our lives as we have known them. We will be a part of the Collective Unconscious. It is peaceful here.

We walk past the once-rowdy group of rugby players. They are calmly focused on their sewing machines. White cotton fabric, as far as the eye can see. There is no use for the farsighted here.

This woman I’m showing around is a psychologist, or a psychiatrist. I forget which. I’ve brought her here in hopes of her doing something about it, this criminal place. She seems excited. Her professional, forest green suit and maroon blouse ruffle loudly as she moves about to study the Focus of the residents here. Because I know about the British man and his needle, I tell her to be Calm. Act like a Robot. We are on a Battlefield.

I have not been assimilated yet.

The water in the fountains does not shimmer here. All light seems ambient, from elsewhere. Shadows do not follow anyone. There is little color. no one gets upset when I bump into them as I walk past, or even says Excuse Me, or I’m Sorry. They just go about their business, carrying dishes or whatever. Every room is interconnected. Everything is inside. There are no gardens, no trees. There are windows, and the views seem so real, I could jump out of one and land Splat on the concrete below. And that would be more productive than staying here, enduring the British man with the needle and the silence and the smiles with no source.

We are becoming conspicuous. There must be cameras lurking. They wouldn’t be so pompous to think that whatever their drug or hypnosis is would be so unfailingly effective the results could go unmonitored.

It occurs to me now, my second time in this place, under the cover of my pretend Apathy (for few have a ’second’ time here), that bringing a shrink into an Experimental Reality may not have been the wisest choice. She is in Heaven. They would not assimilate her if we were caught – they would hire her.

–

I had brought her in hopes of her understanding the injustice, the prisonlike reality of this place. How everyone acted just the same. How illegal this has to be. Her appreciation and compassion for the fragile mind of human beings would jolt her into action. Her hourly rate would become something tangible, patients worthy of being explored beyond their childhoods of the last part of the twentieth century – the Drughaze Generation, she calls them. Us.

She would be the expert witness in the trial of Their Downfall. She would explain that these people, though seemingly complacent, are being held against their will. That these are Artists – painters, sculptors, writers, inventors of toys and worlds, poets, musicians, collectors, travelers, philosophers, glass blowers, dreamers, and storytellers – people for whom the world exists on a romantic, inspirational level. That their skills and passions and peculiar, aloof perspectives have been taken from them, suppressed, their cognitive awareness arid, transparent.

Playing with dull knives is never fun.

She would explain that while yes, the human brain is malleable, it is considered inhumane to mold one not belonging to you without explicit consent, on an expressed and individual basis. This is an entire society. Reinvented.

To which the defense attorney would reply with a convoluted and rhetorical question about everyone is the place giving consent, knowing full well what the deal was (I will not entertain his vocabulary here). That every artist and musician, whose primary tool is their freedom, yes, every one of them signed on the dotted line. Imagination was too much for them. The art, the music, the words meant so much that they wanted them to just disappear. Vanish.

bullshit.

My expert witness, the shrink, would see though all of this immediately, and pointedly remark on the density of her inquisitor’s narrowminded perspective. Something about materialism and lassitude. She would walk away from the witness stand victorious. The Defense Council would hang their heads in shame, for they know of their loss. And we would have our Dalis back, our Hendrixes, our Vonneguts and Darrells and Smiths and Thompsons and Kafkas. Their deaths were well constructed. Fitting, even.

But they never happened.

–

I am playing the part, and acting it well. I am the Angel’s Advocate. This is my personal Railroad, my path to Enlightenment. I have made an awful mistake. Judgment has been compromised. So I keep her on her toes, as if there is violent and fiery danger around every corner. I try to keep her attention on the Ethics of the thing, so that her mind doesn’t wander to the wasteland of my own thoughts.

She is in Heaven.

For a few careless moments, I lose my own Focus. We are in a public Living Room, decorated with mass-produced still lifes that use just enough color to get the point across, and not a shade more. On a brightly lit glass shelf, there is a CD player. On another, books. Unread, but dustless.

–

It’s a bad habit of mine sometimes, to walk into a bookshop and dislocate the entire day, my fingers running softly along the spines of new and old, hard cover, soft cover, special editions, signed, unabridged, annotated, torn, vandalized, read, owned many times but never opened books that make those trademark, lovely soft cracking and tearing sounds when I flip through gilt-edged pages, as if it was an Encyclopedia Britannica – at least then there would be an excuse for it never having been read. But this is Leaves of Grass. On the Road. Huck Finn. Rousseau. Eggers. Shakespeare. This is Blasphemy, Cultural Ruin, the puzzle pieces to my joy and elation.

I’m always looking for the Poetry. Sometimes the section exists, other times I smirk at our absence. Underground Superiority: a façade for my disappointment. Those thin an numerous volumes by authors I’ve never heard of, will never see again. Poems, by ______. Tumbling Down the Stairway to Heaven, by ______. Sunsets: A Collection of Poetry, edited by ______. Through the Mirrored Woods: Poetry by ______ (1976-1993). These are typically the books one can pick up, read one or two haphazardly chosen pieces, and essentially know the rest. Poets tend to stick to their styles, especially in the same book. Consistency and all. Sometimes the style is rhythmic and inspiring and it is quickly realized that a gem of infinitely greater value than gold is spreading wide open for you to indulge in its intimate secrets. That you are holding beauty in your dry and cracked hands. Blood and scars and pen marks, nails cut too short. Ink is your connection.

Moving on to make sure they have the quintessential, my eyes scan the shelves and every emotion is registered and loved and every memory held onto for just a moment. Poe, Dickinson, Ginsberg, Hopkins (often a ghost), Neruda, Whitman. I might open one, flip to my favorites quickly because I know this edition and just so I can see the words in print instead of just in my mind’s eye: Here the Frailest Leaves of Me on 109, Spelt From Sibyl’s Leaves on 86, Lost in the Forest on 132.

I’ll roam the shelves for hours, following only my instincts, smiling at old affairs, remembering the job I was fired from for reading The Savage Detectives, the missed phone call about my grandfather’s death because Hand was talking to the lady in the airport about World War II and I couldn’t peel away for the chiming bells, a marathon romp inspired solely by one unerotic but lascivious sounding passage from Up in the Gallery, the exploration of every available intoxicating substance available in a meager attempt to keep up with Raoul Duke and his attorney. These are the chronicles of my life, and I visit them often. Twain, Thoreau, Hesse, cummings: my childhood friends – Tilbury Town the community I was raised in. Valentine’s 1945 in Dresden my awful family vacation.

–

I pick up one of the shelved books and flip through the pages – back to front (I’m lefthanded). I read a paragraph, and am lost. My Plight of Freeing Passion has been absorbed by this dangerous book. The shriveler is looking at a couple sitting at a table, studying them. I know this moment will be the end of my life.

I tapdance to the CD player, and intently place whatever CD I first pick up in the slot. The volume is up. I run over to the forestclad scholar, tell her to get the hell out of here. It’s over. Tell the story. Write the song.

She’ll be caught and offered a signing bonus. She’ll probably up the Ativan dose for Pablo. Zoloft for Hunter. I tell her to please give me Cyanide. Quizzical look. I’m done. She’s frightened. Panicked. She runs in her heels for the wide and shadowy stairway. It leads to the real world, one with epic mountains and irritating mosquitoes and grizzly-sounding Aussie poets and homicidal whiskey. One where there is freedom to rhyme in everyday conversation and paint masterworks with tomato sauce. To run your fingers over a flesh and blood sculpture and then go create one from clay. To play and laugh and dream and swear and gamble your favorite hibiscus shirt away. That, over there, is the Stairway to Heaven, and the notes within it may well be the Portal to Aural Expression, or even Divinity itself, but Jimmy Page is in here, insuring the soilent green is fit for human consumption.

Here comes the man with the British accent and the needle. He says something to the tank of a man walking with him.

The accent. He’s from Leeds.

[Via http://structuredroots.wordpress.com]

Hollywood Goodfella: top member of Sinaloa drug cartel extradited to U.S.

Vicente Zambada Niebla

A man accused of being an influential, second-generation member of the Sinaloa drug cartel was extradited from Mexico to the United States on Thursday on charges he helped move tons of cocaine from Colombia to California, New York and Chicago. Vicente Zambada Niebla

Full Story

[Via http://af11.wordpress.com]

Be Sober

Be Sober

In the previous post, I shared Scriptures that both condemned drunkenness and revealed that spiritual drunkenness is a judgment sent by God on the disobedient. Now I would like to examine the Scriptures that command us to be sober, and examine 2 “proof texts” used by false teachers who peddle the evil spirit of drunkenness.  All Scriptures are in the KJV version.

Amazingly, the phrase “be sober” (or its equivalent) appears 12 times in the New Testament! For simplicity, I have included only the parts of the verses which apply to our study, but I encourage you to look up the verses in your Bible or Bible program.

Scriptures Commanding Sobriety

Therefore let us not sleep, as do others; but let us watch and be sober. For they that sleep sleep in the night; and they that be drunken are drunken in the night. But let us, who are of the day, be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love; and for an helmet, the hope of salvation. I Thess. 5:6-8

A bishop then must be…sober, of good behaviour…I Tim. 3:4

Even so must their wives be grave…sober…I Tim. 3:11

For a bishop must be blameless…sober…holy, temperate; holding fast the faithful word as he hath been taught, that he may be able by sound doctrine both to exhort and to convince the gainsayers. Titus 1:7-9

Note: the teachers peddling spiritual drunkenness are neither holy and temperate, nor are they holding fast the faithful word and sound doctrine.

That the aged men be sober, grave, temperate, sound in faith…Titus 2:2

The aged women likewise [sober like the aged men], that they be in behaviour as becometh holiness…Titus 2:3

That they [the aged women] may teach the young women to be sober…Titus 2:4

Young men likewise exhort to be sober minded. Titus 2:6

For the grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world. Titus 2:11-12

Note: The grace of God that brings salvation teaches that we should live soberly! To be given to a drunken state–regardless of how it is achieved–is to follow worldly lusts.

Wherefore gird up the loins of your mind, be sober, and hope to the end for the grace that is to be brought unto you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. I Peter 1:13

Note: Those who are not sober minded are not “girding up the loins” of their minds. Their minds are open and vulnerable to attack!

But the end of all things is at hand: be ye therefore sober, and watch unto prayer. I Peter 4:7

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour. I Peter 5:8

This is a command with a terrible consequence for disobedience! My friend, if you refuse to be sober minded, the devil is going to devour you. These words of warning are from the Lord for our good.

The command to be sober has gone out to the bishop, the bishop’s wife, the aged men, the aged women, the young women, and the young men! That’s EVERYONE! Are you going to obey the Word of God, or are you going to obey some staggering teacher who is clearly in rebellion against God and desires to defile you as well?

Examining the Scriptures The Drunkards Twist

First, we must have a close look at Acts 2:1-18.

1And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place…

4And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.

5And there were dwelling at Jerusalem Jews, devout men, out of every nation under heaven.

6Now when this was noised abroad, the multitude came together, and were confounded, because that every man heard them speak in his own language.

7And they were all amazed and marvelled, saying one to another, Behold, are not all these which speak Galilaeans?

8And how hear we every man in our own tongue, wherein we were born?

9Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and the dwellers in Mesopotamia, and in Judaea, and Cappadocia, in Pontus, and Asia,

10Phrygia, and Pamphylia, in Egypt, and in the parts of Libya about Cyrene, and strangers of Rome, Jews and proselytes,

11Cretes and Arabians, we do hear them speak in our tongues the wonderful works of God.

12And they were all amazed, and were in doubt, saying one to another, What meaneth this?

13Others mocking said, These men are full of new wine.

14But Peter, standing up with the eleven, lifted up his voice, and said unto them, Ye men of Judaea, and all ye that dwell at Jerusalem, be this known unto you, and hearken to my words:

15For these are not drunken, as ye suppose, seeing it is but the third hour of the day.

16But this is that which was spoken by the prophet Joel;

17And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams:

18And on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my Spirit; and they shall prophesy.

First, I would like you to observe that when the men spoke with other tongues, there were people present who understood their words in their own languages (vs. 6). In fact, they heard them speaking the wonderful works of God (vs. 11).

Second, observe that the ones who accused these men of being drunk were mockers (vs. 13). Mockers are not known for speaking truth.

Third, observe that Peter did not use this occasion to teach the crowd that a new way to get drunk had been given by the Lord. He did not say, “No longer do you have to buy wine; now you can get drunk spiritually–come, get some!” In fact, Peter quickly corrected the false accusation with, “These are NOT drunken”! (vs. 15) Can it be any clearer? They were not drunk!

If one reads to the end of the chapter, one can see that Peter used this miracle to point to Jesus–Jesus had been crucified by sinners, raised up by God, and now it was the crowd’s responsibility to repent and believe the gospel! Nowhere did Peter teach that spiritual drunkenness had occurred.

Next, let’s look at Ephesians 5:18.

And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit.

This verse is often used to say that instead of being drunk with wine, we should be drunk with the Holy Spirit. I submit to you that being “filled” with the Holy Spirit is NOT the same as being “drunk.” The Christian is commanded to be sober; therefore he must be filled with the Spirit and sober at the same time. The term “drunk” should NEVER be used in conjunction with any work of the Holy Spirit, who always promotes sobriety and holiness. Let’s examine the immediate context to see what Paul meant by being “filled with the Spirit.”

And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit; speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord; giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ; submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God. Eph. 5:18-21

So we see that those who are filled with the Spirit will build themselves and one another up with Psalms/spiritual songs, they will abound with thankfulness to God, and they will submit to one another in the fear of God. If you continue reading, Paul goes on to talk about loving one another. Being filled with the Spirit produces love for God and men.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. Gal. 5:22-23

For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. Romans 14:17

The Holy Spirit empowers hope (Rom. 15:13), gives joy (Acts 13:52), empowers witnessing (Acts 1:8), encourages speaking the Word of God with boldness (Acts 4:31), comforts those who have the fear of the Lord (Acts 9:31), sanctifies (Romans 15:16), and teaches (I Cor. 2:13). Nowhere does the Holy Ghost, who is first of all HOLY, cause or condone the sin of drunkenness.

There are mockers among us telling us to get drunk spiritually. They are blind leaders of the blind.  They claim spiritual drunkenness is a “higher plane” or “something deeper” to be sought after. They are like the serpent in the garden telling Eve that she can have more knowledge than God has allowed. Had Eve been at her husband’s side and submitted to the Word of God ALREADY given, she would not have been deceived. And if the church would remain glued to the side of Jesus (her husband) and be submitted to the Word of God ALREADY given, she also would reject this evil “drunk in the spirit” doctrine, seeing it for what it really is–the same old serpent offering the same old bait on the same old hook.

Be not deceived. The Lord has already commanded, “BE SOBER!”

[Via http://israeliteindeed.wordpress.com]

Color Me Relieved

Excellent news. My lead criminal defense attorney, Buzz Goldenlog, just called to assure me that I won’t be facing any criminal charges over my latest dead hooker incident. Let’s just say that Buzz is close, personal friends with the county coroner, who’s positive that the autopsy will tell a sad story about a girl with a weak heart and a head full of dangerous — and very illegal — drugs in her system when she died.

None of which were provided by me, mind you. I only use prescription medication, and certainly not in a recreational, share-it-with-party-guests manner. Wink wink nudge nudge, eh?

Of course, this does mean that my dream weekend is shot to hell. For some reason, the other two prostitutes didn’t want to hang around after their friend died. And when I saw the third one floating in the pool, I panicked and flushed my stash of Oxys down the toilet. Oh well.

Probably for the best. I’ve already received a sizable stack of applications for my open butler position, and I should really start lining up some interviews if I don’t want to have to do any work around here. I’ll let you know how it goes.

[Via http://oswaldcarver.wordpress.com]

Solitude, Save my Skin By Josh Griffin

I am an angelheaded hipster

-especially eccentric-

writingwritingwriting

backwards words somehow making sense

while sitting on grass ground

beneath metallic sky

contemplating the human seraphim

and Moloch’s participation

with every pig in three piece suits

trees tying themselves in knots

to hide from the innumerable chainsaws

of the industrial environmental genocide

the invisible hand that wishes to see the world

(or most of it)

burn and slowly fade into

mushroomcloud existence

I am sitting in

boxcarsboxcarsboxcars

waiting for unknown odes to be sung

and to touch every conceivable pore

and faint hint of poverty in my

broken bared naked body

crying for poor Karl

who lived

lonely

lovely

writing banned manifestos

sparking revolutions

that bourgeois committed unconceivable violet suicide

by jumping through holy windows

landing on the harsh reality of

Absolute Reality

I am praying in my communistic cathedral

-a breeding ground for those old union hymns-

saluting the workers class

waiting for May Day and every socialism parade

that wanders down

Nowhereville, USA

getting lost in the most simple shantytowns

beggingpleadingcrying

for the sweet lips of ecstasy

to kiss the innocent lips

of young girls and boys

and expect them not to tell

unnatural

imaginary

hallucinations

of the things that passed

I am a perception of the satirical irony

-born out of the merciless suburbs of obscene beings-

while enduring unthinkable hell under rooftops

secret cannabis campfires

keep the hidden third eye of transcendentalism

occupied with numbers and figures

dancing

morphing mental pictures

that appear on sacred floors

only to be seen by the true believers in the power of human mind

I am producing pathetic poetry

consisting of weak slant rhymes and

millionsmillionsmillions

of alliterations alluding

to the allseeing eye of the fauxpas god

and his deity friends that constantly laugh

at pitiful human attempts to seek help to free themselves

of shitstained lives mixed with the passing fads of pointless generations

“all history and fashion shall repeat itself” says the fashion designer with blank eyes and purple cheeks

claiming to know all about sequins and demigods

can’t they see it’s all false! it’s all crazy! it’s all a dream!

[Via http://lifeasahole.wordpress.com]

Where Are Our Kids Heading To

It Is Scary To Hear What Our Kids Are Saying….. Today I went to the local swimming pool for some much needed exercise….I was shocked by what a group of school kids were saying. I asked the teacher what grade they were in and they are all in year 9. I have a year 9 student so I was interested in hearing what the topic of conversation was based on…. Not A Pretty Conversation. It is damn right scary where our kids are heading to. They all thought because I was in the pool that I was swimming and could not hear what they were saying. They were free with their talk..by that I mean very loose with their language. As a Mum to a boy that was the same age of those kids I was most upset. Every second word was “f…” and there was so much talk about POT. One boy did not know what POT was, and thought they were talking about normal cigarettes. But that’s OK because the leader of the pack (trying to act super tough) sorted the mistake out. He started by calling him “retard” – “You Idiot, ciggys are what you and I smoke everyday but POT is a drug that I use at night to get high….makes you feel so good” !!! Gosh I was I holding my self back. I so wanted to jump out of the pool, grab the snot around the collar and give him my two cents worth. “RETARD” is one word I do not like……no one should ever be called that. Beside the fact that the kid was talking about drugs as if it was a normal every day lolly. One boy was so very rude to his teacher with swearing at her that I did put my nose into it….I called the boy over. I asked him if he had a Mum. To which he replied that he did but he lived with his Dad, so I changed my wording… Me – ” so would your Dad be proud of you right now, speaking like that”. The Boy – “No Miss, Sorry Miss” Me – “You are out of school uniform but you are out in public and you are representing your family. Think about how your Dad would feel right now hearing you speak to your teacher that way” The Boy – “Yes Miss” Me – “Hey, Don’t walk away….Please be the best person you can be. Say things that 10 years down the track you will be proud of yourself….Be the best you have inside of yourself”. The Boy – “Yes Miss. Sorry Miss, Thank you Miss” And he walks away. I continue with my swimming. I know that by now all the kids are staring at me, and the kids in the pool are talking about what I had to say. I stepped out of the comfort zone, out of what is concerned not normal….its not normal to speak to kids about their behavior anymore. BUT all I could think about was that I have a Boy that is the same age as this kid. And if he was speaking to a teacher the same way then I would be most upset.  If I could reach just one child and help him to be the best he can be then my day was a good one….. Imagine if there was a program out there that taught our kids at school how to communicate without swearing, how to achieve goals, how to set goals, how to be the best person that they were born to be. I let the teacher know what I had said….She let me know that he has special needs because he has a “Behavior problem”. That to me means even more, that the boy needs guidance and influence that he can look up to so he can turn his life around. DID I HELP ONE KID? Not sure but gosh I sure hope so….. What has happened to society that we are afraid to speak out and stop our kids from self destruction? Where Are OUR Kids Heading To? Hope with all my being that my Woody Boys know that they can be and do anything that they set their minds too. That’s all I ask of my five Wood Boys, To Be The Best Person That They Can Be. And to be respectful of others. Is that asking too much of our kids? Here’s to you changing our kids for the better. Lisa Wood

[Via http://woodyboys.wordpress.com]