"His will power must be weak."
If we are planning to stop drinking, there must be no reservation of any kind,
nor any lurking notion that someday we will be immune to alcohol.
Above everything, we alcoholics must be rid of this selfishness.
But we must be careful not to drift into worry, remorse or morbid reflection,
for that would diminish our usefulness to others. -taken from the AA web site
I sit in this large circle of dead faces, all watching the movies, going around telling their sob stories of how drugs and alcohol ruined their lives. "My family lays in ruins", "I used to steal and kill just to get my next fix", "I've been a drinker and a drugger", oh the wonderful easy sounding words they use, never I did heroin or I smoked pot. They try to stay away from the drug names, never refer to them specifically, keep the salt away from the wound. "for several years." Earlier, when I first started coming, I remember a kid, couldn't have been more than seventeen. I mentioned that I had done E, ecstasy or mdma. His eyes lit up like a wolf watching its wounded dinner limp across a snowy field, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before the movement stopped and his platter would be lying out in front of its drooling lips. "What kinds did you do? Nikes? Mitsubishis? Rolex?" I tell him I only did it a couple times and that I don't remember what kind it was, a look of pathetic disgust seems to come over his face and voice, "oh", he seems disappointed.
I started going to these meetings when my mother found my little DMT extraction lab. You take Anadenanthera Columbrina, a native plant of the Amazon, perfectly legal in the United States; soak the seeds in white fuel, lighter fluid or Coleman lamp fuel, for a week after drying them out. She found the little lab while looking for some weapons that my neighbors moronic meathead of a bovine son may have stashed in my house. Then you strain the cloudy liquid and get rid of the fuel, what's left is a brownish glop that contains the alkaloids you are trying to isolate. My mother was paranoid enough to think I was hiding them for him. Next you soak the glop in ethanol, grain alcohol or Everclear, for another week. I admit I hadn't chosen a very good hiding place for the lab while the extraction was going on. Filter the plant dust out and you have a solution of 95% alcohol containing N, N-Dimethyltryptamine and 5,MEO-Dimethyltryptamine. But I needed a place that was easily accessible so I could shake the solution every day. These are the chemicals you are looking for, and then if you have dried the plant properly before the extraction once the alcohol has evaporated you should end up with yellowish goo that is almost pure alkaloid. She had no idea what the brown crystalline goo was at the bottom of the jar was, and for some reason she thought it would be safe to drink ethanol. My mother was always a chemistry wizard. You can convert the goo into a salt and get the rest of the plant oils out by basifying a solution of water with lye and adding the goo. I had also had an empty bottle that once contained lysergic acid, LSD or acid, dissolved in water. The alkaloids will crystallize and you will have something almost like a white crystal base compound of the two tryptamines. My little lab was enough to convince her that I was addicted to the drugs and I needed to go to a narcotics anonymous meeting, even though none of the chemicals I had taken were narcotics. Always the quickest on the uptake.
So that's how I ended up here, in this sea of self-pity and personal failure. These people had given up on trying; they had made themselves a slave to the drug. Most people say it was a physical addiction they had, never did they really enjoy doing the chemical, always something to blame. There was Harold, Harry had been doing cocaine for seventeen years, he had spent all he owned on it, he would tell stories about how he had once got down on his knees and blew someone for a twenty bag of the white powder. Now that's dedication. Beth, Beth had been shooting heroin for three years, she had done almost every kind of drug imaginable. Her kick was downers, little blue football xanax, lipstick red seconals, blue and orange tuinals, she had narcolepsy. One time at a meeting she almost fell over asleep, if Richard, Rick, he would never allow anyone to call him Dick, he had been drinking since he could swallow, hadn't been there to catch her she would have broken her skull on the hard carpeted floor of the large meeting hall. A nice large crack in the side of her head, blood staining the multicolored carpet, everyone would look away in disgust. They could shoot needles full of poison into their veins every day but they couldn't stand the site of blood.
Every meeting the lights would go off and the video would go on, we would watch how Mark was an alcoholic just like his father, or how Steve had been clean for a year and couldn't resist shooting up once more. Addiction is genetic, addiction is for life, and once you are addicted it will be a day-by-day hour-by-hour struggle to resist the chemical. Their propaganda is all encompassing, all drug addicts think they aren't addicted, admission is the first step, your father is an alcoholic, you have addiction in your genes, you can't resist the drug. Watch the videos, listen to the stories, everyone has one. I have never sucked dick for drugs.
The noise surrounds you, the videos, the stories, the twelve steps, surrounding you like water surrounds a drowning animal, filling its lungs until its trying desperately to suck the oxygen out of the water, wishing it had gills. Pretty soon you believe you are an addict and that you need these meetings with their pathetic loser stories and their leaders that look at you with mock caring and pity, I always thought I sensed a bit of fear in them, speaking to you as if you don't know what your doing, generating confusion. To them you're a patient, someone who needs 'help', and they do it by integrating you into their little machine of sadness and self-pity. Yes, the way to 'freedom' is by admitting you are a piece of shit and pretending you are sick. Staring up at the massive workings of ducts that crawl across the large wooden ceiling I wonder how much pressure those pipes can hold. I wonder what would happen if someone crawled into those pipes at night filled them with large quantities of ammonium tri-iodide. Take pure ammonia or even cleaning fluid that can be found at any supermarket. Then next day at the meeting, I would bring a small rock. The more pure the ammonia the more sensitive the explosive, mix in powdered iodine and let it crystallize. Something large enough to create a small vibration when thrown at the ductwork. The crystals created, when touched very lightly explode in a cloud of purple smoke. When the lights went out and everyone is getting ready to watch today's video I would toss it up there. The entire room would fill with collapsing ductwork, now shrapnel and combusting ammonium tri-iodide. The room, the television, the chairs and all the self-loathing pathetic slugs of people, now brainless because of their bovine training at the hands of these self proclaimed doctors would all be reduced to a pile of blood and smoldering rubble. A fitting end, how merciful, rather than let them live on, hating themselves for what they have been made to believe they have become, living every day of their lives in a shadow of something that they have been labeled with. They are already dead as far as I am concerned.
If we are planning to stop drinking, there must be no reservation of any kind,
nor any lurking notion that someday we will be immune to alcohol.
Above everything, we alcoholics must be rid of this selfishness.
But we must be careful not to drift into worry, remorse or morbid reflection,
for that would diminish our usefulness to others. -taken from the AA web site
I sit in this large circle of dead faces, all watching the movies, going around telling their sob stories of how drugs and alcohol ruined their lives. "My family lays in ruins", "I used to steal and kill just to get my next fix", "I've been a drinker and a drugger", oh the wonderful easy sounding words they use, never I did heroin or I smoked pot. They try to stay away from the drug names, never refer to them specifically, keep the salt away from the wound. "for several years." Earlier, when I first started coming, I remember a kid, couldn't have been more than seventeen. I mentioned that I had done E, ecstasy or mdma. His eyes lit up like a wolf watching its wounded dinner limp across a snowy field, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before the movement stopped and his platter would be lying out in front of its drooling lips. "What kinds did you do? Nikes? Mitsubishis? Rolex?" I tell him I only did it a couple times and that I don't remember what kind it was, a look of pathetic disgust seems to come over his face and voice, "oh", he seems disappointed.
I started going to these meetings when my mother found my little DMT extraction lab. You take Anadenanthera Columbrina, a native plant of the Amazon, perfectly legal in the United States; soak the seeds in white fuel, lighter fluid or Coleman lamp fuel, for a week after drying them out. She found the little lab while looking for some weapons that my neighbors moronic meathead of a bovine son may have stashed in my house. Then you strain the cloudy liquid and get rid of the fuel, what's left is a brownish glop that contains the alkaloids you are trying to isolate. My mother was paranoid enough to think I was hiding them for him. Next you soak the glop in ethanol, grain alcohol or Everclear, for another week. I admit I hadn't chosen a very good hiding place for the lab while the extraction was going on. Filter the plant dust out and you have a solution of 95% alcohol containing N, N-Dimethyltryptamine and 5,MEO-Dimethyltryptamine. But I needed a place that was easily accessible so I could shake the solution every day. These are the chemicals you are looking for, and then if you have dried the plant properly before the extraction once the alcohol has evaporated you should end up with yellowish goo that is almost pure alkaloid. She had no idea what the brown crystalline goo was at the bottom of the jar was, and for some reason she thought it would be safe to drink ethanol. My mother was always a chemistry wizard. You can convert the goo into a salt and get the rest of the plant oils out by basifying a solution of water with lye and adding the goo. I had also had an empty bottle that once contained lysergic acid, LSD or acid, dissolved in water. The alkaloids will crystallize and you will have something almost like a white crystal base compound of the two tryptamines. My little lab was enough to convince her that I was addicted to the drugs and I needed to go to a narcotics anonymous meeting, even though none of the chemicals I had taken were narcotics. Always the quickest on the uptake.
So that's how I ended up here, in this sea of self-pity and personal failure. These people had given up on trying; they had made themselves a slave to the drug. Most people say it was a physical addiction they had, never did they really enjoy doing the chemical, always something to blame. There was Harold, Harry had been doing cocaine for seventeen years, he had spent all he owned on it, he would tell stories about how he had once got down on his knees and blew someone for a twenty bag of the white powder. Now that's dedication. Beth, Beth had been shooting heroin for three years, she had done almost every kind of drug imaginable. Her kick was downers, little blue football xanax, lipstick red seconals, blue and orange tuinals, she had narcolepsy. One time at a meeting she almost fell over asleep, if Richard, Rick, he would never allow anyone to call him Dick, he had been drinking since he could swallow, hadn't been there to catch her she would have broken her skull on the hard carpeted floor of the large meeting hall. A nice large crack in the side of her head, blood staining the multicolored carpet, everyone would look away in disgust. They could shoot needles full of poison into their veins every day but they couldn't stand the site of blood.
Every meeting the lights would go off and the video would go on, we would watch how Mark was an alcoholic just like his father, or how Steve had been clean for a year and couldn't resist shooting up once more. Addiction is genetic, addiction is for life, and once you are addicted it will be a day-by-day hour-by-hour struggle to resist the chemical. Their propaganda is all encompassing, all drug addicts think they aren't addicted, admission is the first step, your father is an alcoholic, you have addiction in your genes, you can't resist the drug. Watch the videos, listen to the stories, everyone has one. I have never sucked dick for drugs.
The noise surrounds you, the videos, the stories, the twelve steps, surrounding you like water surrounds a drowning animal, filling its lungs until its trying desperately to suck the oxygen out of the water, wishing it had gills. Pretty soon you believe you are an addict and that you need these meetings with their pathetic loser stories and their leaders that look at you with mock caring and pity, I always thought I sensed a bit of fear in them, speaking to you as if you don't know what your doing, generating confusion. To them you're a patient, someone who needs 'help', and they do it by integrating you into their little machine of sadness and self-pity. Yes, the way to 'freedom' is by admitting you are a piece of shit and pretending you are sick. Staring up at the massive workings of ducts that crawl across the large wooden ceiling I wonder how much pressure those pipes can hold. I wonder what would happen if someone crawled into those pipes at night filled them with large quantities of ammonium tri-iodide. Take pure ammonia or even cleaning fluid that can be found at any supermarket. Then next day at the meeting, I would bring a small rock. The more pure the ammonia the more sensitive the explosive, mix in powdered iodine and let it crystallize. Something large enough to create a small vibration when thrown at the ductwork. The crystals created, when touched very lightly explode in a cloud of purple smoke. When the lights went out and everyone is getting ready to watch today's video I would toss it up there. The entire room would fill with collapsing ductwork, now shrapnel and combusting ammonium tri-iodide. The room, the television, the chairs and all the self-loathing pathetic slugs of people, now brainless because of their bovine training at the hands of these self proclaimed doctors would all be reduced to a pile of blood and smoldering rubble. A fitting end, how merciful, rather than let them live on, hating themselves for what they have been made to believe they have become, living every day of their lives in a shadow of something that they have been labeled with. They are already dead as far as I am concerned.