I have been reading an extensive series of articles arguing the hardest-hitting evidence against meth, and being quite heavily laden with propagandistic sentiment, it kind of got to me.  I don’t have any gigantic argument against what they are saying.  I have to agree.


By the late 1960s, however, the growth of a “speed freak” culture was catching lawmakers’ eyes. Congress began imposing more restrictions on legal, prescribed amphetamines.


That’s just what I had on my clipboard.  I don’t want to post every paragraph and tear it apart.  That still won’t eliminate the areas where I agree with them.  As a matter of fact I do not agree, because, this is a battle of words, and, all we can do is to state the truth.  They do not do that.  Instead, they leave a bad situation as if it has to be that way.  Their methods involve striking fear into the reader’s mind.  I believe in harm reduction.  Unless you find the information somewhere, you will catch on fire and die, guaranteed.  We do this all the time without getting burnt.  At the end of the day there is going to be a lot of toxic waste, but, there does not have to be that plus a burn patient in the hospital.  What would be even funnier is both cooks burned and smoking, laying on the ground, looking at each other and screaming, like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

We are not worried in this about burns.  That’s what I thought was the first thing to eliminate.  Now, they are complaining about the toxic waste.  Inevitably, the problems are the result of a violation of some simple cardinal rules.  I hope that if I get around to elucidating the rule, it is not ignored.  But, I tend to bury the information within a lot of commentary.

Hmm, I buried the quote within the text without a word count.  Okay, this is a non-word count post.  Requote:


By the late 1960s, however, the growth of a “speed freak” culture was catching lawmakers’ eyes. Congress began imposing more restrictions on legal, prescribed amphetamines.


That makes this quote 25 words.  304 words are mine, 50 are theirs.  Now it is a word count post.  In case we assign blame someday, we’ll have a breakdown on who is most at fault.


387 – 25 = 362.  25/362 =  0.0690607735.  ~ 7 % theirs.


Well, seven per cent and dropping, and, this web site dates from 2000 AD.

Well, my computer won’t scroll smoothly and my capital letters are not transmitted to the web page.  It’s all jerky.  I just want to recognize the problem.  Let’s face it, we are better off reading a good book.  You don’t have to find your place all over again every ten seconds.

No, idiot, a “speed culture” never developed “by” the late ‘Sixties.  I was there you fuck.  You killed 60,000 young people my age whilst murdering  four million Vietnamese.  You devastated their whole country with permanent contamination on purpose with Agent Orange.  Our culture was mainly anti-war, and the feeling was that it was proper to destroy ourselves rather than be tools of your war.  We got wasted.  Even so, amphetamines were done on the sly.  They formed a secondary and harder culture, not a culture with ideals.  The drug culture almost immediately recognized them as outcasts.  I’m by myself!  What culture?  It is easy to state that had the anti-meth folks been there in response to a meth culture, they would more clearly have identified with the prevailing and insane arch-enemies-of-mankind totalitarian war pigs, as they do today.  Be anti-meth, and be proud.  Be anti-earthquake, too.


Anyhow, among the other things I looked at on the internet last night was in order to answer the question, “What chemical companies in and around Concord (my home town, CA)?”  For, they had said that these cooks had boughten materials from Oakland and Concord.  It seems as if the more horrendous concentration of meth lab cleanups (what we call an uncontrolled hazardous waste site) are in the farming communities (translation: Mexicans) in the central valley.  Like, Modesto.

What? I pushed ‘publish’ and all the font is small. Now I am back in it to edit, to continue to compose, and in HTML I can see it’s all corrupted. I don’t have just a little bit of code to delete, so, I am going to leave it as is.
The other one’s ‘Visual’. What I have to say is that I might think, “I can’t do this,” meaning that I am about to die, these days. What that derives from is sitting stock still at this computer, not going to the bathroom, my only nutrition coming from donuts and coffee. A person needs exercise and, without it, becomes sick. On meth it may occur to you to ask, “How close to death is ‘sick’, if you are doing something you like?” I don’t know. It must not be as close as I thought it was.

The pigs get their exercise, and all the time they are exercising they are thinking, “I have to get the advantage over the bad guys.” They see every person on the street as a potential adversary. They have been walking up to the weights in the gym, saying, “I am going to lift you, you aren’t lifting me,” then, out on the beat it’s the same thing, going, “I am going to take this guy right, left and up the middle.” They’re so gay. Imagine if they were on speed.

The human body being pushed to the outer limits of wakefulness readily develops psychosis. I might get a smell in my nose. There is no smell like that, but, it comes back again the next time I get high. I go outside to track it down with a flashlight. I try the dumpster, …

I can’t find it. I imagine what might smell like that, and I come up with festering toenails, crushed-up snails, putrified, something like that.

Well, not really. I am amalgamating the smells. One is sickly-sweet, one is a fragrance found in a cheap motel, one is bleach, one is purely imaginary. They’d come back if I used. There would also be the imaginary conviction that my life situation was closing in on me as an actual space of a small volume, as if the world is the size of a closet. I go outside, but only a few steps. I try and see if it is room-related; related to the four walls. It isn’t, but, just as often on another trip, on another day, or at a different phase of the high, I hit the—I trip the light fantastic. I trip the light fandango, … the smell is at night, and it’s jasmine. The late-afternoon sky is swirling overhead, a fluid of air circling and diving over the horizon, like a waterfall or a whirlpool. In the pitch-black night I see and hear a carousel, or, the street lights shining into the air on the next street might be the lights of a Nineteenth-Century arboretum, the strings of lights moving as liquid. The light in one direction may beckon me to travel to that city.

Anyway, the slow-motion despair of being one of fifteen million unemployed, in this day and age, doesn’t make any of our society’s previous gains in human rights seem that comforting. It is what it does. I don’t do any, nor can I feature any spare vitality I could sacrifice. The funny thing is how we manufacture fairly clean product, even so far as to pollute the environment to make the illegal drug as clean as possible. I developed the steam distillation so I wouldn’t have to use freon, and I always used the HCl as a concentrated mineral acid, not as a gas. That’s the reason for this. The notion of scale simply requires additional technical improvements. Since it’s illegal, however, expediency and stealth are our watchwords. We have to use espionage, be spies, if that sort of thing does damage, call it that.

One more article. I just got my forty-hour hazmat card, but there was a chemist or two at UCLA just recently burned, so, I wouldn’t have let that happen to me. I have seen it. Yeah. It was the electrical arc. This is a standard flash. In polyester clothing, the flash sets you on fire. With flame-resistant material (FRM), you don’t die like this bitch. Eighteen days later.
Jan 19, 2009 … Sheharbano (Sheri) Sangji, 23, of Los Angeles, incurred second- and third-degree burns … Sangji had been employed at UCLA since October. …

Jan 23, 2009 … rules appear to have been violated by the victim – Sheharbano Sangji, … After the incident and before Sangji’s death, UCLA launched a …

A UCLA research assistant who was seriously burned in a laboratory fire last month has died of her injuries.

The 22-year-old woman, whose name has not been released, died on Jan. 16 at Grossman Burn Center in Sherman Oaks. She was transferred there after initial treatment for second- and third-degree burns at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center.

The accident occurred Dec. 29 while the assistant was working with T-Butyl lithium, a highly flammable compound, in UCLA’s Molecular Sciences Building. The fire was extinguished by a colleague.

The fire is under investigation by UCLA’s Environment, Health and Safety department.
It’s not ‘highly flammable’ you asshole. It’s an air-sensitive compound. In contrast to a flammable liquid, the material catches fire upon exposure to the air. It’s pyrophoric, not flammable. Mm-hmm, typical blaming of victim. Notice on the name, that’s a middle-eastern type with a hairy pussy. From the height she was standing, after the accident, the puss was all that was left untouched by the flames, or it could have gone up like a torch.

Notice UCLA has a billion-dollar meth lab and they still can’t keep from getting violated for withholding the reporting of an earlier incident which could have prevented this. But, I like UCLA no matter what they do. I’m crazy about ’em.


See, first of all you do not have the growth of a culture with a negative name. It’s a culture, and thus perfectly capable of naming itself. I would say the culture was called, ‘love child’; not even ‘hippy’, an appellation given the Haight-Ashbury by Herb Caen, a columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle. “The Haight is Love”. In the USA culture, cultural signs include the red and white stripes on the flag. They took that from the bloody rags hanging outside barber shops, which was an icon eventually, the barber pole. They thought that was neat. Blood-soaked white bandages honoring the fallen like butter soaking into a half a bagel.


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