Michael Hill was a freind from school. On Monday he was teaching rowing to young people on the Thames in London. The boat capsized. His body has not yet been found. In this cold weather we must assume he is dead. At school, from primary through middle school we were freinds though never too close. He was on the perifery of my circle. At one point he came in for some abuse during a mushroom trip I was not at. This is a sacramental exercise and like to think I would have intervened. This precious magic has dangers not to be played with.
Later he reappeared at feddy gigs. An adult, working in chapeltown helping young offenders. We met again on occassion at feddysgigs and as adults struck up an understanding. He moved to london. I would here of his good days on facebook. He found something in rowing he shared at a number of places, teaching youngsters.
He died doing something he enjoyed. He was a good man. Respectful to all. Considerate.
Overplaying the significance of our relationship would be lieing but we understood and respected each other. We shared many years, saw each other grow, develope. He was safe, stable, secure. I am more a wild animal. Not through intent. My reactions are intuitive. His motion was considered. Yet life pans out odd sometimes. I suspect he was dearly loved. Not always respected. I, respected, seldom loved.
This is not about me. Farewell Hilly. I was always fond of you.
Thursday, 5 February 2015
Resurfacing to a new world.
No matter how many times you do it the process never becomes easy. You learn tricks to soften the journey but there is no bypass. Going from 10mg to 6mg in one fell swoop may seem lunacy but it's such a long miserable journey if I didn't make a substantial inroad early on I doubt I'd bother.
My first days were smothered with ethylphenidate, a chemical legal over the Internet. Much like cocaine yet highly corrosive. Excessive dopamine leads to paranoia. Once this trick had me three days in the trawl proper begins.
Body feels ill. Wake to coldness and deep depression. Trying to work but my co ordination is to cock. I must finish my desk or I go under. Yet I must not damage it with opiate withdrawal cack handed ness. I'd rather see it through alone, in one fell swoop but I need to work. Need to walk the dog. So it's a process of balancing how I'll I can operate under. Relief is instant, should I require.
After fifteen years of subutex, a tablet in the morning, you forget you are a drug addict. There's no ritual foil tubes, no cooking up, no finding veins, blood no pins. A simple pill. Much like most people in Britain take each morning. But stop it and the same symptoms as a heroin withdrawal descend. Tapering is easiest in some ways. Never totally bed ridden, never well either. But it's long, drawn out, maintaining commitment for longer stretches of utter and instantly avoidable misery. After a while ones natural endorphins begin to rebalance to the reduced artificial dosage. Still severe depression but a modicum of stability, before the next reduction and the process begins again. Finally, when the last artificial opiate leaves, the body will take several months to restabalise.
During these fifteen years of subutex, bupronorphine, partial agonist that doesn't get you high but prevents withdrawal and prevents heroin from having any effect, I have had twelve or fifteen lapses. Usually due to work, unable to arrange a chemist with the drug services, I have been left the choice of abandon the job or take on a temporary heroin habit. But, overall, for fifteen years I have stayed straight, clear of gear at least.
Returning to a world without the shield of opiates is completely terrifying. The archeology of buried griefs, tangled emotional wreckage, never dealt with, becomes unearthed. As the layers of buried shock of years ago remergaes you find yourself grieving over deaths a decade ago, relationship breakdowns one ought to have cone to terms with have been submerged under the soil of opiation, all reexposed, all to be dealt with. This is what opiates do. They don't kill pain, they kill the emotional response to pain. Resurfacing you meet all the demons you hid from. All the natural suffering a human endures, all returns.
Another element is akin to the lifers experience. Enter jail and after ten years the world has changed. You still wear flares, still carry opinions, a decade lost in human developement to some how catch up.
My first days were smothered with ethylphenidate, a chemical legal over the Internet. Much like cocaine yet highly corrosive. Excessive dopamine leads to paranoia. Once this trick had me three days in the trawl proper begins.
Body feels ill. Wake to coldness and deep depression. Trying to work but my co ordination is to cock. I must finish my desk or I go under. Yet I must not damage it with opiate withdrawal cack handed ness. I'd rather see it through alone, in one fell swoop but I need to work. Need to walk the dog. So it's a process of balancing how I'll I can operate under. Relief is instant, should I require.
After fifteen years of subutex, a tablet in the morning, you forget you are a drug addict. There's no ritual foil tubes, no cooking up, no finding veins, blood no pins. A simple pill. Much like most people in Britain take each morning. But stop it and the same symptoms as a heroin withdrawal descend. Tapering is easiest in some ways. Never totally bed ridden, never well either. But it's long, drawn out, maintaining commitment for longer stretches of utter and instantly avoidable misery. After a while ones natural endorphins begin to rebalance to the reduced artificial dosage. Still severe depression but a modicum of stability, before the next reduction and the process begins again. Finally, when the last artificial opiate leaves, the body will take several months to restabalise.
During these fifteen years of subutex, bupronorphine, partial agonist that doesn't get you high but prevents withdrawal and prevents heroin from having any effect, I have had twelve or fifteen lapses. Usually due to work, unable to arrange a chemist with the drug services, I have been left the choice of abandon the job or take on a temporary heroin habit. But, overall, for fifteen years I have stayed straight, clear of gear at least.
Returning to a world without the shield of opiates is completely terrifying. The archeology of buried griefs, tangled emotional wreckage, never dealt with, becomes unearthed. As the layers of buried shock of years ago remergaes you find yourself grieving over deaths a decade ago, relationship breakdowns one ought to have cone to terms with have been submerged under the soil of opiation, all reexposed, all to be dealt with. This is what opiates do. They don't kill pain, they kill the emotional response to pain. Resurfacing you meet all the demons you hid from. All the natural suffering a human endures, all returns.
Another element is akin to the lifers experience. Enter jail and after ten years the world has changed. You still wear flares, still carry opinions, a decade lost in human developement to some how catch up.
Tuesday, 3 February 2015
Death, stumbles on...
It was over two weeks ago our close friend was given 72 hours to live. Sleepless nights have followed. Eating next to nothing. Combined with withdrawal from buprenorphine my mind has been unstable. Softening the blow has caused insanity. Darkness is endless. Phonecalls from her deathbed increasingly hold no words, slurrage of yearning to communicate, anger at her failing system is met by attempts to provide some positive encouragement. We are rendered liars. There is no future to promise. Perhaps this insanity of sleeplessness, not eating, chemical sustenance and powerlessness has caused my growing acceptance in biocentricity, or loss of faith in materialism. What I knew in all certainty hit evidence it could no longer accommodate. All we do is live, unable to operate properly. I hardly achieve half the work I need to and poverty follows. Food comes in patches. No alcohol to soften the mix. 
The Primacy of Consciousness - Peter Russell - Full Version
Peter Russell . Similar outlook to Lavaz. Either materialism, and long term blog followers will know I wrote a lot in its defence, is wrong or quantum mechanics is wrong. It is looking like consciousness is the creator of matter, not an emergent property of matter. My about shift has taken bravery. Any paradigm shift requires the strength to abandon ones previous beliefs. I encourage you to listen to these two you tube videos. You'll find few holes. Certainly the current paradigm which asks permission for one miracle, the big bang, and all else we will prove. Clearly this paradigm shift is about to explode on to us. And nothing could be more exciting.
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