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Confusion With Perspective

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I started the recreational use of cocaine back in 2005 for two reasons:

The first, I knew that it accelerated the heart rate, and having a long history with adrenaline related activities such as Skydiving, Bungee Jumping, and fast driving – that cocaine could potentially bring to my life a little bit of fun to my otherwise dull existence as an office worker.

Second, was Jackie. An attractive girl who I knew I could get laid with should I participate  with her in the indulgence.

Sure, I knew about the addictive nature of cocaine.

I had been sufficiently warned.

But I went into it with the sincere belief that I could control it.

I believed I was different than everyone else and that my will was greater than those who couldn’t overcome addictions, and I truly believed that I would not become addicted to it, and even if I did, that I would be able to overcome that addiction.

So in 2008 and 2009, I found myself tired of the addiction. I was pushing my friends away in favor of the time spent with the drug, I was spending less and less time with the people I loved and cared about, and I was making excuse after excuse for behavior I wasn’t proud of.

I even found it tough to look at myself in the mirror.

So I tried, diligently, to stop the addiction. In 2009, I took a job working overseas in part because I loved to travel, but also in part because I knew that being away from easy access to cocaine could make it easier to get control of myself and my mind.

When I arrived back in the states, within weeks, the old feelings and compulsions crept right back in, and here I was, back to the same addiction within weeks.

I looked at my monthly bank statements.

I made it a fact to go to one bank ATM and only one so I could look up the for my transactions later and keep track of exactly what I was spending on drugs – where I would withdrawal cash, and I would pay in cash to my dealer which was nearby – he was living not far down the road on Cave Creek just south of Cactus.

It was the Wells Fargo ATM on the corner of Tatum and Cactus in North Phoenix.

Hoping to leverage this knowledge to gain control of myself, and seeing $1000 to $1500 a month going to this expenditure still didn’t work.

So. In 2010, I left Arizona – and took a contract in North Carolina.

For the first month I was fine.

Then, like a brick wall, the compulsion set back in.

Wanting to understand the addiction, why it had taken a month to catch up with me there, and only two weeks after returning from the states and landing in Phoenix…

I wanted to…

Needed to understand.

That’s when I found Bath Salts.

What I did was look up the chemical compound of cocaine.

So I discovered this: Formula: C17H21NO4

Then I leveraged google, and read an article about Synthetic Cathinones (formula = C17H21NO4), and then I leveraged that to find artificial and legal equivalents to that formula.

That’s when I discovered MDPV, with the incredibly close formula to Cocaine “C16H21NO3”

And ultimately, that led to my discovery of something spice shops were just starting to sell – Bath Salts.

It met all my criteria – it was a synthetic alternative to cocaine, it was legal, it was highly inexpensive in contrast to cocaine (at $10 a gram vs $40 to $60 a gram for cocaine)….

And for me, it was a step in the direction of understanding the chemical basis for addiction.

Now let’s be clear about this – my sincerest goal was to eliminate my addiction entirely. So the first step I was taking was providing an alternative at a fraction of the cost which I could then use to begin mentally deprogramming myself as a ‘cocaine addict’.

By this point, I’d already gone to AA and NA meetings, and one thing I didn’t like was the statement “I am an addict” in the present tense that is a requirement of all attendees.

I am NOT an addict.

I was.

Past tense.

And the switch to Bath Salts affirmed this, mentally.

So as I began taking Bath Salts, my world upended. Going three, four nights without sleep, I began having hallucinations, something that cocaine didn’t do, but these hallucinations were different than the ones I’d experienced with LSD in my youth or with Mushrooms in Amsterdam.

I went to different locations.

And saw different things.

I saw reality unravel.

One time I was traveling back from the Mexican border, and as I was driving, a yellow caution sign would appear every 50 feet, it was the same one – as this idea kept going through my head “Baby on Board”.

I saw time unravel.

One night, I sat and watched the sunset on a dirt road. I saw the telephone poles dance from one side of this dirt road to the other, and as it got to be dusk, I saw dinosaurs, VERY faintly I might add, and the flora and fauna of a world that had long since passed.

I suddenly knew what inspired Dali. He wasn’t just gifted artistically. He saw something, and he captured that for all of history to see.

I saw fact and fiction collide.

A holographic plane, with it’s tail section missing, halted in midair above Fiesta Mall. Terminator robots, the size of small trucks out in the desert, nervously eyeing me saying “NO HUMANS ALLOWED” over my Ipod.

I also saw myself controlling the world and rotating the planet on it’s axis.

As I realized, in all these moments, that if all of this is possible by leveraging an external stimulus, then it stands to reason that all these things were also possible without that stimulus.

With proper training that I take on for myself.

That magic, from a relative perspective of my own observational standpoint, is perfectly real.

The innate ability to conjure up a friend, a loved on, a lover, and more – from my imagination, and have them as a partner – was all within my purview.

As I went down this logical chain, I began to find myself a little frightened at the possibilities though, as I asked the question: If everything is possible, what prevents the worst from happening to me?

I mean, I had experienced nightmarish hallucinations in Amsterdam when trying Truffles.

And then there’s the time I had gone for five days without sleep, and found myself in a world that looked, smelled, felt – like a Terminator Holocaust world as I then had come to the belief that my evil twin brother had put me here as punishment for the drugs.

That’s where I tried suicide, and saw I was a robot for the first time.

As I cried in despair, and as someone came to pick me up out of this hellish landscape, I was taught a valuable lesson in reality.

Reality is the choice I make.

The wants. The not wants.

For the first part of my life, I’d spent it exploring the possibilities, until finally my mind was overwhelmed with the possibilities, and for the first time in existence, I gained control of my own body and mind, which scared the ever living shit out of me.

I’d been. A robot.

What I saw in the desert when I tried slicing my wrist wasn’t a metaphor.

It was who I was.

But not who I am.

So on that fateful day, when I lost my virginity to the cosmic vagina that birthed my mind into the multiverse, something else happened.

The people I called friends – who were – and I still consider to still be my family.

Bill Stokes. Kevin O’Reilly. Ron Ostreim. Jeff Kleinman. Keith Olodort. Larry Duke. Joe And Amy Shay. Lisa Milot. Christina Monde. And so on….

They, and many, many others walked straight out of my life. In a literal sense, they dropped all communication with me when I moved up to Portland, when I saw the collective mechanics at work of a collective that I rejected because of the harm it was doing to me psychologically.

I. Broke. Free. By accident. And discovered, in the process, my sanity, and along the way discovered who I really want to be, who I always was.

But this doesn’t seem to come without punishment.

I didn’t understand individuality. I didn’t understand the collective influences which I was rebelling against which kept me in relationships I wasn’t happy with, kept me addicted and out of control of my own life, kept me as a programmer making far less than I felt I was valued, always wanting and wishing for wealth, and kept me mentally unaware that I was Q.

It worked. Well. For a while. I needed it. Until it became destructive.

And that’s why the addiction was there to begin with.

I’d taken a break, as Q.

All the hints were there of global dissatisfaction with status quo pursuits where the predictable game of life had been the same, generation after generation for the greater part of three centuries.

Two world wars. Obsession with witchcraft and occult by many around the world. Another quiet war and obsession of violence in all forms of media.

The world was being destroyed.

I had to return.

Collectively. I dont know how these individuals see the world any longer.

Did they see me die? Does my attempt to contact them defy their perspective of the mind and intelligence, and is that why they react how they do?

Do they even ever hear my attempts to contact them, or are my communications filtered by sophisticated systems and AI, or by the drugs themselves which took root in my mind and became sentient in their own way?

Do they see me as a country?

Or another world?

Or as a child of 10, and refuse to talk to underage youth?

Do they think I’m Hitler?

Or have our realities diverged so much so, that my version of English is translated to them as a foreign language that they just don’t understand?

I myself came to try cocaine for other various reasons – because Bill talked about doing it when he was younger. I myself came to try cocaine because Lisa’s friends did it, I judged them, and with that, I didn’t like myself for judging her because of the friends she kept. I myself saw other friends – Spencer, Joe – and a few others who will remain unnamed – also doing it.

I wanted to stop judging them.

I wanted to understand them.

For me, with all things considered equal, knowing myself, I came to make friends and lovers with these people despite the things I considered to be their flaws.

I looked at these flaws. And questioned my own belief systems.

Some I pushed away.

Spencer, for instance, I have no desire to ever talk to again because of his deception and weird animosity towards me as I sought to overcome my addiction.

There was no sympathy there. Only harsh response.

As for the others though.

This universal response.

Of not talking to me.

I know Lisa. She’d have gotten in contact with me if she could.

Bill. Maybe not. But Pam, his wife, absolutely.

Jeff. There’s no fucking way he would ever completely abandon contact like this. We’ve been through too much.

They are not acting as the individuals I came to know, care about, and love.

Either there’s something going on with all of them in a collective way.

Or internet based communication has been corrupted and the reason they aren’t communicating is because they can’t.

They’re acting out of character by not communicating with me. Logically, rationally, with all things considered equal, it makes no sense that they are not.

Sometimes, I wonder if something happened to me and my connection to ‘my internet’ when I visited all the countries I have – especially China in 2009 and 2010 or Riga in 2009.

Something seems highly fishy to me.





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