Archive for March, 2015
Four years ago, Jonathan Chait made the kind of prognosticating mistake people don’t let you forget: He picked Tim Pawlenty as the 2012 Republican nominee.
To be fair, Pawlenty wasn’t as ridiculous a choice as hindsight makes him look, and Chait wasn’t the only one forecasting great things for him: Pawlenty was Mitt Romney without the baggage of Mormonism and RomneyCare. He was conservative enough to be acceptable to the Party’s various factions, while sounding moderate enough not to scare off the national electorate.
In other words: If this were still the GOP of 1920, Pawlenty was exactly the kind of Warren-Harding-ish compromise candidate the smoke-filled room above the convention hall would have settled on after ten or twenty ballots. But since Pawlenty was nobody’s first choice in 2012, he never broke out of single digits in the polls and was out of the race before a single vote was…
View original post 2,101 more words
People are so amazingly stupid. This isn’t heroin addict behavior, it’s extreme sociopath behavior. Duh. I also love the amazingly sexist and irrational comment at the bottom.
April Concoran via Hamilton County Sherrif’s Office
Thirty-year-old Pleasant Plain, Ohio resident and mother, April Corcoran, was indicted yesterday on twenty seven counts after she gave her eleven-year-old daughter to her drug dealer, 41-year-old Shandell Willingham, in exchange for heroin. Corcoran is also accused of injecting her daughter with heroin. Willingham was charged with twenty six counts which include rape and video taping the rape of the Corcoran’s daughter.
Shandell Willingham via Dearborn County (Ind.) Sheriff’s Department
The rape occurred in June of last year but wasn’t known until Corcoran’s daughter went to live with her father and step mother soon afterward. Heroin has spread to places it never used to go. Some blame its spread on the previous easy availability of synthetic opiates like Oxycontin. Heroin is now largely less expensive and easier to get than synthetic opiates. Pleasant Plain is a rural area outside of Cincinnati.
A good question might be…
View original post 29 more words
I’m still here!
Hope your evening’s going well; mine ain’t too terrible.
But it is uneventful.
See you tomorrow!
Ahhh, Iron Maiden. Sonic healing. It is better.
Someone posted that Fear of the Dark is about heroin withdrawal in the Youtube comments. I don’t have any idea if they were serious or trolling, but it’s hilariously dumb either way. I giggled for a good couple of minutes.
I mean I’ve suspected Adrian of doing a bit more than beer, but the rest of the band? I love Bruce but he’s basically a giant nerd with a great voice. I doubt he’d know how to score weed, much less anything else. And Steve Harris? I just can’t see it, somehow. I mean, I guess it’s possible, but he just doesn’t strike me as the type. Then again, who knows. You never know. A lot of the most successful drug users are invisible precisely because they know what they’re doing.
Beyond all that stuff though the song just doesn’t make me think of withdrawal, at all. There are plenty of other songs that do, including a John Lennon song whose name I forget right now. But not this one. I can tell you that the times I’ve been in opiate withdrawal I couldn’t sit still long enough to watch horror movies, worry about the unknown, or go outside long enough to worry about being followed. I was too busy… being in withdrawal.
I’ve never liked heroin much, in truth. If I could get it clean and pure I’d probably like it just fine, but street shit has this weirdly distinctive grossness to it. If Werewolf: the Apocalypse were real I’d say it registered to Sense Wyrm. You can feel the grossness in you when you use it. You can feel it come out of you when you’re sick with it.
None of this is the fault of the drug itself, but whatever shit it’s cut with or contaminated with, of course. Can’t get around or escape it though. Not without really pure shit, clean as it gets, which I’ve never seen and probably never will.
Of course, you don’t have that problem with morphine or oxycodone. Not the same way, that is. Because the binders in real pills aren’t much better than street cuts, if you ask me. They only have to meet a slightly higher standard of non-dangerousness, after all. Still, the weird binder feeling isn’t nearly as sickish-feeling as the heroin feeling.
He’s been mooning about heroin lately. It’s a little frustrating. But only a little. I find it difficult to care as much as I know I should. It always has. I’ve run with drug users a long time. I guess I’m just used to their ways. On some level I even sympathize, even if I choose to do things differently.
Mitch is out of town for a month. I miss him, but it’s odd how little I’ve reacted to this. The day he left I was a little bit teary and weird, but since then I’ve settled very easily into a sort of emotional holding pattern. I know he’s coming back eventually, so the only thing to do is wait it out. I suppose I have a lot of experience at Waiting It Out. Hmph.
Anthony visited for a while today. It’s weird seeing him sit where Mitch usually would – especially in how right and normal it looks. In a way they’re almost interchangeable – but even as I type that I want to erase it because it’s not true, not really. It’s the fundamental emotion that’s the same, I guess. Just everything else that’s different. I value them as the vastly different people they are and appreciate them for who they are. But I love them the same way and I guess that’s what I was talking about at first.
Not that I get to express it much. It sucks mucho being poly, in a poly relationship, and having fallen for a mono. So close, yet so far… But I’ve more or less adjusted to that. Anthony’s a sweet person so I at least get as many hugs as I could want. I content myself with that, and his time, when he’s here. It could be a lot worse. At least he’s still a good friend. On the other hand, I hate to say this, but I think it’s partly because we’ve got a pretty good bullshit parity going. I’ve never had a successful long-term offline friendship with anyone unless we had a good bullshit parity. Meaning that neither of us has to put up with more of the others’ bullshit, or, to say it another way, we both subject each other to roughly equal amounts of it. I have my issues, he has his, and they’re of roughly similar proportion overall, at least on a day to day basis. God knows what’s in the core of -his- heart, the ugliest places. I’ve barely had the strength to tell him what’s in -mine-… I hardly expect him to reciprocate. I’m pretty sure on the whole he’s a better person than I am though.
For instance, recently, a person we both know died. Granted, he had known this person a lot longer than I had, but neither of us liked him at all. I feel nothing whatsoever about this person’s death, one way or another. He’s the sort of person I’d’ve happily killed except I wouldn’t want to get his gross blood on me. Some people have really icky blood. So banned from my general Shadow fantasies, he became a total nonentity to me, a nonperson. I mean that – I have no real anger left or anything, just a total lack of interest in him. News of his death warranted a shrug from me. And not even a full shrug, just one shoulder.
But Anthony was genuinely, if briefly, shaken and upset by it. Just the fact of having someone he knew die.
I’m not even sure I have a point. I’m just meandering about him because when he left a bit ago, like always, he hugged me twice before leaving. Sometimes it’s just once, sometimes I end up getting a few, but there’s always at least one hug before parting. Often a grabbing finger drag too, reluctant to part. Or that’s what it is for me anyhow. Not certain how he feels about it. Probably just habit on his end. Hard to tell though. He -does- hug me a lot. But he hugs other people a lot too. I try not to assume anything or read too much into things. Plus he’s with someone now anyway so it’s a moot point.
Anyway, I could smell him on myself for a while after he was gone, even though he’d only hugged me. His cologne or deodorant or whatever it is, but also just an indefinable personal odor. Sometimes I can still smell it a bit. I’ve always loved that about Anthony, how he smells. I’m weird, I know, but I haven’t lost the primal interest in another creature’s smell as a way of identifying an individual and detecting their current status. Breathing it in, remembering him, made me want to write about him, or at least write in general, until the sense of something missing goes away.
It’s especially easy to fall prey to this when Mitch is away. When he’s here I can seek comfort in his love and be happy that someone loves me. That’s more than a lot of people have. And I do love him too. I want to spend my life with him. But I’m just not monogamous, I never have been and it seems like I never will be. Mitch and I have been together for six years and Anthony rebuffed my interest ages ago… but here we are.
The bitch of it is that I have no good answer for Anthony’s prime objection all that time ago. You can’t give 100% of your time to two people. Love may not be divisible, myself may not be divisible, but my time is… Of course no good relationship demands that the partners spend literally 100% of their time together, but his point is well taken. 50/50 really doesn’t work well, and unless all three people are with each other at once, it gets really difficult.
So I just backed off and have remained backed off to the best of my ability. It gets much easier with time. Especially given frequent quality time and hugs.
But now and then, especially when I’m alone and his smell lingers with me like this… I wish things could’ve been different.
And the worst thing is that I know someone is going to read this someday and think I’m an idiot and/or asshole because I’ve got a loving, good long-term relationship that I’m happy in, and it’s somehow not enough for me, I’ve also got to moon after someone else. And I know they’re probably right. But I can’t fucking help it. I didn’t sit down and decide, hey, let’s fall in love with him, he seems neat. It just… happened. By the time I realized it, it was set.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s just an echo of a deeper frustration, if I’m not just clinging to people as a sort of counter-anchor against other impulses.
MC 900 Foot Jesus did a great piece called The City Sleeps. It’s about arson and pyromania, but the way it’s performed matches my own feelings about other things, so it’s on my ‘murder-mood’ playlist regardless.
Everyone has a little secret he keeps
I light the fires while the city sleeps.
I do like fire, too, but I’ve never torched anything. Incidental exposure is enough for me. I think I’m just drawn to high-intensity stuff in general. I need that for some reason. I have to expose myself to this kind of crap because nothing else has enough strength to distract me from the empty spots in myself, and the weird, empty violence that tries to leak in to fill them. Or maybe that draw to violence is just another aspect of it, just another intensity, the ultimate intensity short of self-annihilation (something else I’ve tried a few times, with evident failure). Just another veil to hide the emptiness from myself, another useless sacrifice thrown down a bottomless pit.
Now I can’t smell him anymore and my mind swells with vicious imagery. I’m not sure this is an improvement.
Too late now.
I think this sort of thing is why I stopped blogging for a while. I tend to brood in circles and spiral myself down the drain.