A Dude on a Chopper

Of course, using cocaine is taboo.  And, my saying that I used it is definitely a no-no.  The discerning reader will recognize that a coke fiend can’t be trusted on anything he says.  If I claim some other reason besides the simple fact a coke freak won’t be separated from his coke, you know right away I am lying.  I do not like to lie about it; I am publishing it.  There is wrong afoot, and it is as if I have the audacity to exacerbate the situation by making it public.  How I am able to do that is by not being at the end of my addiction, where the latest affront to common decency is still a fresh wound, and where I want nothing more than for the whole thing to blow over, but at the beginning, where, up until yesterday, I had not used cocaine since 1996.

Unless one is prepared to lie a lot, one’s drug-using career will be fraught with difficulties.  This is not a revelation.  It is true with a lot of things.  Sex is one of them, but, who are we talking about?  The sex life of a sixty-year old is never going to be controversial.  Similarly, a seriously ill patient using drugs would not ordinarily be considered sensational.  Think about  it: once an individual is granted some departure from a drug free condition, it is no longer an ideal, hypothetical debate.  It is a real one; some might say a more natural one.  Those sentiments promoting the best of all possible worlds then cover the legitimate and/or appropriate use of drugs.

Why is it more natural?  Well, every person alive will eventually lose his or her struggle for life, so, inevitably, life being part of nature and nature not being exclusively about “life” means that society’s rules will have to accomodate reality or people will break them.  What the rules say precisely for each eventuality can be known in advance.  What they say about me is important for you since you are right behind me, right?

Is there a critical shortage of drugs of abuse?  Yes, because of the meaning of “ordinary”.  Before you pick up any one of a number of drugs including cocaine, the notion, “under ordinary circumstances” will cease to apply.  The setting in which the drug is used is more likely than not to involve a paranoid, terrifying sense of illegality lasting until it wears off.

The stuff I used was $25, was a quarter-gram which I snorted, and had a consistency like a soap.  that is, it was soft, like laundry detergent.  It did not have sharp rocks in it.  It did not have to be chopped up.  It could be dumped out and lined out or just have the straw stuck in the bag.  That mattered since the whole operation was pretty much out in the open.  The opportunity to slam did not present itself, leaving something for  the next attempt, because it isn’t good until it’s perfect.  You don’t have to make it take four hours or less; it might be best if it were conducted in Rosarito in a hotel room.  However, paranoia is part of the experience and may be present no matter what you do.  It isn’t even paranoia in a clinical sense.  It is a panic, confined to ourselves, with heavy, cringing fear of suddenly being violated, nameless dread, but often feeling like you re about to be hit over the head and robbed.  Scary thoughts would come to me and they would not go away.  I tried to supress them.  Did you ever notice that if you stop saying something, the rest of it is still there?  I felt unsafe and no place looked good for taking refuge.  I finally went back inside the MacDonald’s; it is an open-air frontage on the sidewalk.  Only yourself knows whether you are inside or out.  I went up to the counter again (I had already been there and got Montezuma’s Revenge from the Coca-Cola); I pushed a twenty across but the girl said the Spanish for ‘no change’.  She repeated it in English and I had to press on.  I walked out and passed in front of a cop a couple of times; I did not know how I was going to pay him off if I had to.  The rest of my money was all in my wallet.  I don’t think they are allowed to let you keep some.  Oh, I guess I could have used the same twenty.  I had enough with me to buy a half-ounce, just in case; in case Satan were to appear and stop time long enough for me to lay up in the cut and get stoned for six days.  My feet did not seem to be able to remain perpendicular to my leg, and walking a straight line in front of the motorcycle pig entailed picking them up but having no plan for where to set them down again.  Stepping off the curb was like walking underwater.

I got tired of having to keep marching, so I asked how to get back to America, and tried to smoke the cigar.  The street opened up into a plaza at the bottom of the bridge, but all the spots with your back protected up against a wall were taken.  I could have just sat in a cafe, but I was having an attack of worrying about the lungs of the people smelling my smoke, so, it wouldn’t compute a solution and I kept going.  I wasn’t ready to see more pigs, but I realized that the line was long and would give me two good hours to cool out before having to do that.  I cooled and posed what-ifs for a good long time; cooled but heating under the sun.  The typical Mexican’s furtive gaze I could not recognize for what it is, which is the standard of ignorance, carried all about wherever spics gather in my home town, and I felt out of place.  Not too close to the woman in front of me in line I attempted to stay, but then I worried how close those behind me were getting, with my hand on my wallet in my front pocket.  At the time I transferred it there it was another problem without a solution: you can’t reveal the location of the wallet by moving it.  I kept thinking of my friend Jeff who, at 22, lost his money from his front pocket as well, due to the whore who seemingly kindly was rubbing his dick, as he tried to act nonchalant.  See, it was a way to make him drop his guard.  Well, that was in a bar.  I couldn’t find any bars.  I couldn’t read fast enough to ascertain whether the taco stands sold beer as I kept it moving.  The more I thought about a beer the less I wanted to add alcohol.

In line, there was imaginary white powder around my nostrils, and I needed to get it off without it showing on the monitors.  You can go to your head and scratch it while each time the hand passes the nose it can do a quick wipe.  I kept track and worked my way around, but I never got rid of it since it was not there.  My sunglasses did not work as mirrors, something to change for next time.

“A Dude on a Chopper” is just a shot in the dark in case the reader might also panic every time he thinks ther’s a biker cruising (or going on a putt) in the area.  My cigar cutter is like a little guillotine.  I call it a chopper.  I can’t find it.  I probably could have found it by now if I hadn’t written this.

What was it the readers wanted to know?  See, they supposedly searched and turned up my blog, so, that was what they wanted to know, but, are they coming back for the answer?  Well, Steve, it shows you that a human mind was interested in the answer to their question, but others may be interested.  If somebody thoght of it once, chances are that others will think of it, too.  I recall one was about how you tell if something is a good source of information.  The answer to that is called “peer review”.  It’s like a wiki.  IOW, it specifically addresses this concern.  Unfortunately, all straight-up information on how to make speed is not a part of society’s need for scientific progress.  Generally, though, the “experimental” section at the end of every breakthrough journal article provides the technical details which allow the experiments to be repeated for anyone “well-versed in the art”.  The black arts are extensive and much of the background is abbreviated.  That means to crawl the web looking for the definitions for each telling word used in the description if you don’t now it perfectly.  Take “reflux”.  Google it, and Wikipeia will show you a picture of the complete set-up.  Referring to a lab manual will enable one to assemble and operate the reflux apparatus.  Sizing the glass is a function of such minor calculations as found in an elementary chemistry text.  We are talking the mole concept and the ideal gas law.  What was it last week?  “I need it step-by-step”?  Well, a “step” is any time the molecule changes to a different molecule (with a different name), so, meth is one small step away from ephedrine; at most two.  You probably want how to treat a reaction mixture.  That’s called the work-up and is not a step.  I can not invite people who invert eyedroppers full of solvent to continue the course.  So, if readers are attempting to hide their sophistication, it’s working.

an enamine is a molecule with both an “ene”, which is an olefin (a molecule with a double bond), and an amine group, with these two disposed to interact electronically.  An enamine has another form; the molecule spends time in each form (but not really).  The other form is called an imine.  When the molecule reacts, the product shows which form it had to be in when it reacted.  That’s why we study it.  Lithium enolates were the subject of Richard Chamberlain’s PhD thesis, but they must be drenched in diethyl ether, a dead giveaway.  You can’t even have it around without everone knowing.  Dick took over at UCI after this fine work under F. Thomas Bond at UCSD.  Enolates are related to enamines; keto-enol tautomerism has the same dynamics, and for meth, the work of Gordon H. Alles, a dynastic individual out of The California Institute of Technology (CIT, Caltech, in Pasadena), in the 1930s, alludes to an intermediate called a nitro keto alcohol.  His workups are explained well enough to obtain crystal (xl).  Alles actually “worked with industry”.  IOW, he was complicit in the spread of methamphetamine for vast profit.  Today’s drug industry profitability began with speed.  I have a link on my clipboard (but not to Gordon.  Look that up on Rhodium);

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Gunnerside#Operation_Gunnerside

Yeah, okay.  That’s how to blow up the enemy’s heavy water plant.  I believe that we can use a heavy-water plant today, as a way to transport energy which has been derived from solar photovoltaic cells (SPV cells).  If you dissociate water into hydrogen and oxygen and stop after 5,000 gallons I think, the last gallon left at the bottom will be 99% deuterium oxide.  There might have to be a nuclear fuel cycle to provide a market, but this world might not have twenty years left running like it’s running, that is, on fossil fuels.  Twenty more would be better than none.  Full exploitation of nuclear power may carry with it the risk of an uptick in cancer rates.  Otherwise, that is hard to “uptick” (but for a nuclear war).  D2O isn’t radioactive.  Can it form the basis of a nuclear economy?

1987

Coke discussion by US expats in ‘Lumbo: http://poorbuthappy.com/colombia/post/coca-in-cali/

A new avatar for me to use:

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