Bluelight Live

December 26, 2017

So I’m in a weird phase in my life, and one of the things I’m doing to entertain (err, distract) myself is explore odd corners of the Internet.  By far the most exciting site I’ve explored is Bluelight, a well established (but new to me) hub of information for drug users of all stripes. I’ve spent a bunch of time this evening reading blow-by-blows of “precipitated withdrawals” (the more you know!), recommendations of what benzos to take when suffering night terrors, and “eye alignment issues on meth.”  The most exciting post I’ve come across, though, is the below, titled “Have I ruined my amphetamines???” and written by a user who goes by the handle speedyhousewife.  I read it aloud to my husband in a posh British accent, which made me think that perhaps there should be some performance called “Bluelight Live,” a la Letters Live.  Who’s with me?

***

Hello everybody here, what a fabulous resource you have here. I’m not sure of all the proper terminology for everything so please do excuse me for any errors. I also do not know anyone else who uses this, nor does anyone other than the seller know that I use it, so I have no one to ask and Google didn’t help me much at all.

I live in Hampshire in England and i have been secretly taking what I know to be called Speed for about 5 years. It usually comes in a mildly smelly pure white sticky paste, sometimes a bit grainy, wrapped in plastic. It’s about the same size as a small butt plug! I was initially told by the seller to put it in the freezer and cut off what I need, but it tastes nasty, so I have always opened it up, spread it on a silicone board and left it in the airing cupboard to dry out. Once dry the next day, I flex it off the board and whizz it into a powder in a food processor. Then I divide it into 50 cigarette papers for easier swallowing. Always been fine, never been a problem, it has always been pure white and mildly smelly.

2 days ago, I bought some and shoved it in my bag without looking. I arrived home and realised that the house wasnt empty, so in a panic, i shoved it in the gas meter cupboard outside overnight. It was a very cold night and i was panicked so i still didnt actually look at it. The next morning, i opened the gas cupboard and the smell was VILE, I wondered if I had a gas leak! I took out the speed and the smell was coming from that, it was nasty and it was a creamy yellow colour! I spread it on my board, but it wasn’t spreading easily. It also made me feel sick because of the smell * I do have extremely heightened sense of smell for the last 3 years though *. I left it to dry over night and it hasn’t dried well, still quite sticky and the smell is still awful. I’m scared to use it.

Has anybody ever known anything like this? Or could it have reacted whilst hidden in the gas cupboard, either to the gas or the cold night? Will this make the speed dangerous to take? Am I being paranoid and irrational? Is variation in colour and smell normal?

I cannot ask the seller as we have no contact at all to protect my secret. I hide the funds in the secret location at the same time every month and the following day I return to collect it. What should I do? I won’t be able to get anymore for 1 month and I only have 2 days left from my previous supply.

Just in case this isn’t actually called Speed, the effects of it are super increased energy, excess sweating, increased motivation, no appetite, sometimes irrational thoughts and crazy ideas (both good and bad), fast talking too much, increased productivity, reduced judgement when shopping (I.e, likely to massively overspend), feeling of invincibility (I.e, attempting tasks that wouldn’t normally be considered for an untrained late 40s 4ft10 woman, like building a summerhouse from scratch, chasing a burglar for 2 miles on foot and roofing repairs) and sexual rampancy. I dont know how much this is in weight that i buy, but it is much much much much cheaper than a months supply of cocaine. Previous threads I have read have not mentioned any prices of things so I haven’t quoted the price to avoid flouting any rules.

The effects hit in 20-30 mins, and usually last from 7.20am-5pm. Once worn off, there is ravenous hunger and occasional emotional sensitivity, but nothing else really, does not affect sleep that night unless a second amount is taken at 5pm. When not able to take for 2 or3 days, major paranoia kicks in, but that might just be my mind and nothing to do with the speed. If it’s not speed, I’d love to know what it might be as I’m really paranoid that I won’t be able to get this if my seller ceases trading. But it was speed I initially asked for.

Thank you so much for reading and for any help! Middle class bitch here with no other help available!

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The Problem

December 25, 2017

This is an essay about the Problem. You don’t know about The Problem? You should be ashamed, but only a little. You see, lots of people don’t know about The Problem. That’s why I’m writing this––to raise awareness about The Problem, and to de-stigmatize The Problem. There is enormous stigma around breaking the stigma around the Problem, too, but let’s start with the basics.

How big is The Problem? Massive. Catastrophic. Pervasive. Doctors call it an epidemic. Bureaucrats call it a drain on the system. Poets use the flowery “scourge.” You can’t catch It, exactly, but you can “develop” It in any thousands of ways. For example: you can have a life experience, of any nature, that triggers It. Or you could inherit It from your parents. Maybe It appears suddenly after a bout of the common cold, or you just hate your job so much, the Problem arises. All possibilities. The Problem, after all, is many things, including but not limited to psychological, biological, phenomenological, eschatological, and paleological, not to mention scatological and agrostological.

 

Now I’m going to say something that will make it sound like we have a very good idea of causation, but it will really be more about correlation. Try to ignore this sleight of hand, and think about the human face of the Problem instead. Who is affected by the Problem? Everyone. Grandmothers; middle-aged white men, though they often suffer in silence; teenagers, disproportionately; even babies (human babies, kittens, owlets, and the infants of various endangered species.) Many people may pretend not to be touched by The Problem, but they are, in one way or another. They just don’t know it yet.

 

Celebrities! So many celebrities have the Problem. They’re announcing in droves. They’re railing against the stigma during press junkets. They’re so brave. Not only do they struggle with the Problem and Its many facets, they have the courage to admit it in public. We should all be more like them!

 

But you would like numbers, yes? Statistics. Data. We have so much data about the problem, you wouldn’t even believe. How’s this for scary: 33.23% of those who suffer from the Problem experience some degree of discomfort 89% of the time. Or this: in the past two-and-a-half decades, the number of people reporting symptoms that resemble those described by people who have at some point struggled with the Problem has risen by 231%. Or, finally, get a load of this: teenagers with the Problem are 67 times more likely to have other problems. (What other problems, you wonder? Don’t ask; for now, we need to focus on THE Problem. Triage is simply not an option.) Studies show that further studies are needed to measure the true impact of the problem, although we suspect it is yuge.

 

What do we need from you? Well, money, ideally. You cannot possibly combat a problem the size of the Problem without funds. But we know not everyone has to spare and frankly, we’re not all in agreement as to what we would do with your money if we had it. Instead, we propose the following: talking about the Problem, verbally or digitally, but certainly obsessively. We like to call this “starting a dialogue,” which studies show is viewed as 22% more effective than “waging verbal warfare” or “pestering innocent bystanders.” If talking isn’t your thing, you can click––click every link that leads to an article that raises awareness about the Problem, or click “like” (or even “love” or “feverishly adore” or “could just DIE over,” if said options are available) on any post on any venue that is accompanied by a hashtag related to the Problem.

 

And what if that, too, won’t work? You don’t have a computer or full use of your pointer finger, not to even mention the assertiveness to strike up conversations with strangers or coffers full enough to donate to a cause, however worthy it might be? Then this is all we can request: now that we’ve opened your eyes to the Problem, you continue to think about It in some manner, forever. We believe the knowledge of It should remain omnipresent, like white noise, as you go about your days. We need you to emote about It. How you should feel? Here are your options: guilty, despondent, weepy, helpless, enraged, vaguely disturbed, fearful, tense. Which, ironically enough, describes exactly how those who have the Problem feel all the time. That, and that alone, should comfort you.

(For George W. S. Trow)

Parents at New Year’s

December 21, 2017

[Redacted]: Do you guys have plans NYE?

ID: No.  You?

[Redacted]: My niece is going to bbsit until like 10-1030 and we are gonna go out to dinner then just come back and try to stay up til midnight hahah – wondering if you all want to come out and stay over? We can out kids down then go out to eat? Just a thought!

ID: We’re into this!  What time would you like us out there?  IMHO we wouldn’t want it be so early that we’re in your hair, but we also wouldn’t want it be late and have us end up on the train with too many drunken revelers.  Your call.

[Redacted Other Person]:  I love this idea!  There is some chance I’ll have to work. (I am definitely working Xmas day). But we’ll take that as it comes!

[Redacted]: we are usually done w naps by 330ish so after that would be best and I can scoop you from train with the infant car seat whenever works for you.  Kids can have dinner and play here/ do whatever until bedtime. Re: working, we have a “desk” area in our “guest suite” so if you need to power up here thats no prob. Also have Mad baby gear and pack n play! 2018 guys!

[Redacted]: Plus obviously weed cigs champagne

[ROP]: Weeds, cigs, champagne, pack n play, nap time.  Fuckin 2018 man.

[Redacted]: Bring it onnnnn.  (Especially nap time.)

Contact Boxes

December 3, 2017

If you have a contact form on your website, which I do, sometimes you get some really interesting and hilarious shit.  For example, a rabbi friend of mine received this inquiry recently:

Dear Rabbi: I’m an amateur wrestler, 59 years old, 6′-0″ tall, 155 pounds. I’m seeking Cantors & Rabbis as private opponents for pro style wrestling matches [sic] at [REDACTED], Utah. 25-69 years old, 5′-7″ to 6′-6″ tall, 160-330 pounds. My homne address is – [REDACTED]. Hope to hear from you soon.

Okay so I have many, many questions about this, first and foremost being: why would the potential opponents need his home address?  Is he just expecting said rabbis to show up at his house?  (I looked the emailer up, and confirmed that he is a real person and that he has recently put out similar opponent calls for “husky men,” referees and ring announcers, coaches, and truck drivers.)

Kind of want to make a documentary about him.  I like to think of this fellow as just a lovable super fan, and not some Tickled-type creep-o.  Just a man with a dream!

A Prayer

November 28, 2017
Dear God, I am so discouraged about my work.  I have the feeling of discouragement that is.  I realize I don’t know what I realize.  Please help me dear God to be a good writer and to get something else accepted.  That is so far from what I deserve, of course, that I am naturally struck with the nerve of it.  Contrition in me is largely imperfect.  I don’t know if I’ve ever been sorry for a sin because it hurt You.  That kind of contrition is better than none but it is selfish.  To have the other kind, it is necessary to have knowledge, faith extraordinary.  All boils down to grace, I suppose.  Again asking God to help us be sorry for having hurt Him.  I am afraid of pain and I suppose that is what we have to have to get grace.  Give me the courage to stand the pain to get the grace.  Oh, Lord.  Help me with this life that seems so treacherous, so disappointing.
— Flannery O’Connor, A Prayer Journal

Film Pervert Math

November 16, 2017

So I asked my husband the other day, “Considering how we’re no longer supposed to watch films sexual deviants worked on, what do you think the worst movie to watch would be?”

My first thought was Blue Jasmine: directed by Woody Allen, featuring Louis CK, and I assumed it would have been produced by Miramax as I had read somewhere that Weinstein gave Woody Allen his second chance after Allen was shunned post-Soon Yi scandal.  But no, Miramax didn’t fund Blue Jasmine, so that’s out.

However, I can’t seem to find many movies that involve more than two perverts, which is kind of amazing considering how many perverts there are.  I guess Good Will Hunting counts, because there have been allegations against Ben Affleck and also Harvey Weinstein produced it (and I guess Casey Affleck’s in it, too, which makes three!)  True Romance could work because it has Christian Slater (who was jailed for beating a girlfriend) AND Tom Sizemore (shudder) AND it was produced by Weinstein.  I can’t really find anything where Richard Dreyfuss, Dustin Hoffman, or Kevin Spacey intersect with Allen, Weinstein, or Louis CK, or with each other.  But I definitely feel like I’m mission something.  Help me, people!

The Art of Air B&B

November 7, 2017

AirBNB?  I don’t give a fuck.

Anyway, I am currently holed up in a fancy flat in a fancy neighborhood in London, and this place officially has the weirdest art of all time.  There is an home to the famous Sex Pistols album with Kate Middleton instead of the Queen, an autographed version of this famous photo of Jennifer Aniston from the cover of GQ, and my personal favorite, this:

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It is an approximately seven feet tall lacquered print of a model (no one I recognize) in Clockwork Orange cosplay, with two… tattoos of Mariah Carey on her arms, and the word  “DREAMLOVER” inked across her chest?  (Also I believe those are Mariah’s initials on her stomach and enormous fake tits.)  My friend AC put the image into Google and it came up with nothing, which means this is someone’s unique and as-of-yet undiscovered creation.  You’re welcome.

Also this made me think that there should be a Tumblr or Instagram devoted to the art of Air Bee and Bea, but my friend KM alerted me to one that already exists.  Sadly, it appears they stopped updating in May.  Missed opportunity!

 

Mechthild Van Magdeburg

November 4, 2017

GOD COMPARES THE SOUL TO FOUR THINGS

You taste like the grape; you are fragrant as balsam; you shine like the sun; you are an addition to my highest love.

THE SOUL PRAISES GOD IN FIVE THINGS

O you pouring God in your giving!  O you flowing God in your love!  O you burning God in your desire!  O you melting God in the union with your beloved!  O you resting God on my breasts, without whom I cannot be!

GOD SPEAKS ENDEARMENTS TO THE SOUL IN SIX THINGS

You are the pillow for my head, my bed of delight, my most secret rest, my deepest desire, my highest honor.  You are a pleasure of my divinity, a consolation of my humanity, a brook for my torch.

THE SOUL RETURNS GOD’S PRAISE IN SIX THINGS

You are my mountain of glass, the feast of my eyes, the loss of my self, the storm of my heart, the dissolution and ruin of my nature, my highest security.

~From Martin Buber’s Ecstatic Confessions, which is the long form version of the beloved meme #shitmysticssay

A Romantic Send-Off

October 18, 2017

Two days ago in London the sky was a burnt sienna-color; many outlets called it “Martian,” which is not inaccurate.

“What’s the weather like by you now?” my husband texted me from work.  “My colleague says the sky is yellow because it’s Saharan dust.”

“Apocalyptic,” wrote a friend from her houseboat in Tottenham Hale.  When I said it was allegedly Saharan dust, she responded, “Yes, and Iberian fire!”

Apparently Ophelia, that dark strumpet, had kicked up Saharan dust and Iberian fire and colored the skies here an eerie yellow-red haze.  Don’t you think “Ophelian Sky” is a good name for a musk-y perfume––or maybe “Saharan Dust” and “Iberian Fire” could be the latest in the Dior Homme range?

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Yet Another Comment on Harvey Weinstein

October 14, 2017

Trigger warning for my husband, who is so far past peak Weinstein he’s living in the future we all want to inhabit. Don’t read on, honey!

So obviously I followed the Weinstein horror story, like everyone else did.  I was going to write an essay much like the below, but then I got a little grossed out by all the op-eds and think pieces, some of which were obviously hastily conceived and outrageous (AHEM) while others benign but obvious attempts by journalists and pundits to get a piece of the pie, meaning clicks and then money, thereby benefiting from the pain and havoc.  (Like, did we really need Mayim Bialy’s take on the matter?  Which includes a weirdly self-critical note about how, because she’s not a conventional beauty, no producers ever invited her upstairs?)  But only a few––heroes every one!––read my blog, and I could never figure out how to opt-in on WordPress ads, so I don’t make any money from this, which means I can rant without feeling like a bottom-feeder.

I’ll be succinct, or attempt to be: Of course I wasn’t surprised to see that Weinstein immediately adopted the language of therapy––he talked of bringing therapists onto his “team,” of “issues” (others in his vicinity used “demons,” a peculiarly resilient holdout from the era of possession as mental illness), and of possibly going to a “facility somewhere.”  This was literally his only possible course of action––he’s calculating, and realized denial would have played way, way worse––but it galls, because it suggests that therapy––which I think of as essentially a luxury for most of what Freud might deem the “commonly unhappy” which is most of us––has officially reached the point at which it can be used in an attempt to downplay the severity of one’s crimes against others and relinquish responsibility for one’s actions.  (See also: Mel Gibson’s abhorrent anti-semitic rant and fucking WIFE BEATING, which now are mostly brushed off by the establishment as solely the result of alcoholism, in remission due to counseling––and yet strangely, I know many recovering alcoholics who managed, throughout the duration of their drinking, to never claim that Jews started all the world’s wars or hit their partners.  Curious!)

I am not saying that intensive therapeutic treatment isn’t ever useful or appropriate.  For one, anyone with an acute and recognized (sex addiction is not included in the DSM) mental illness that hasn’t committed a crime.  Also, if someone has committed a crime, but hasn’t, for socio-economic reasons, had access to quality counseling ever––say, an inner city drug addict, or a mentally ill person from a very insular religious enclave, like the Amish––a treatment program is probably a better first line of defense than prison.

But Harvey Weinstein comes from a rarefied world in which people go to therapy for all kinds of banal reasons.  There’s no stigma attached to seeing a shrink amongst Hollywood bigwigs and New York intellectuals.  The odds are good HW’s been to a psychologist himself before.  He’s a Woody Allen fan (see what I did there?) so at the very least he knows about the concept of psychoanalysis.  The fact that he failed to enact change in his life up until this point indicates that he either tried to make use of the no doubt abundant therapeutic resources he had access to and couldn’t (which doesn’t mean the therapy didn’t work for him, it means he didn’t work hard enough at the therapy) OR didn’t give enough of a fuck to even explore said resources for this “issue.”  I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume it’s the latter.

I could cite some recent events and studies––including the story about a sex offender treatment program at a prison here in England that actually made prisoners more likely to reoffend, because the constant discussion of sexual violence and deviance “normalized” the activity––or maybe the study about mindfulness (no doubt on menu at the Meadows) making criminals more likely to reoffend as well, because it encouraged them to “not judge themselves” HAHAHAHA––but I won’t, because I don’t think I need to.  I’m guessing that a lot of people are hearing that Harvey’s headed to a plush rehab facility and thinking, “Oh Gawd.”  (Except for maybe this sex addiction therapist interviewed by the The Cut, who claims that “I’ve never met people who suffer more than [sex addicts.]”  Gee, Deborah Schiller, I can think of at least thirty women who have suffered more than a certain sex addict has.)  I’m guessing a lot of people are feeling that talking about his childhood to a kindly Arizonan wearing jade earrings and elbowing the guy with the DTs out of the way to get to the make-your-own-omelet station is not the way to get back in our good graces.  I’m guessing the Meadows is even a step above Pine Grove, where the Cut lady works: “[The sex addicts] have a nice big gazebo out front, they have cookouts out there, ping-pong, and foosball, and they can sit around a picnic table under that gazebo.”  I have assaulted zero people in my life, and I don’t have a big gazebo.  Jussayin.

So how exactly should a man like Weinstein make good?  He should find a way to donate all his money to charity without having his name attached to it.  In so doing, he should steer clear of causes that are linked to entertainment or maybe even women’s groups.  Children’s cancer seems like a safe bet.  He should sell all his belongings, and give away that money, too.  He should then don the robes of a religious mendicant, and find a cave to live in, probably outside of North America.  Said cave should be as isolated as possible, so he is extremely unlikely to come into contact with other human beings (let alone a therapist––something tells me that for a man like HW, not talking about himself would be a more fitting fate, than being given a captive audience––or, G-d forbid, a woman.)  If he is found and––the horror!––photographed, he should move caves immediately.  He should survive on insects, leaves, and rainwater.  He should remain in the cave, while his executors handle the occasional cleansing of his coffers when they refill with Miramax dough, until he dies.  The end.