Sunday at the Holiday Inn
Ok. Time to write. I’m high on one single teeny one-hit toke of week, and a fair amount of something else. A drug I don’t do often, and it doesn’t have an overwhelming effect on me, but it does change the mood, and with weed, I’m ready to write. It’s June 17th 2012.  A Sunday.… Read More »

Sunday at the Holiday Inn

Ok. Time to write.

I’m high on one single teeny one-hit toke of week, and a fair amount of something else. A drug I don’t do often, and it doesn’t have an overwhelming effect on me, but it does change the mood, and with weed, I’m ready to write.

It’s June 17th 2012.  A Sunday.

At this moment in my life, I am living through the story of my residence being destroyed, and me being put up in a nice Hotel by the airport – and E wasn’t available.

I tried.  I really did.  I came close with an Internet connection.  I don’t know how to troll for E in the city without going to a rave, or at least a dance club, and my weight, age and general style prohibit me from their doors, unless I’m with a cute girl… and I’m not.

So I am in a hotel, with anxiety, regret, depression and no drugs.  Friday and Saturday were dull, early nights for me.  I didn’t have E, so I couldn’t have a party.  This relieves me, but I deny it and think of it as something that wold have happened.

Over the past few years, my need for sex is mixed.  I want it, and so want to be able to have sex with a woman, but the other part of my brain shuts it down.  I obcess the fun out of it.

I can’t get hard on E, although alone I manage a few good orgasms a night with a hard cock.\

When a pretty – or crack-whore pretty is in front of me, willing and paid, I fail.

My mind is now flooding with stories, so my direction may be ,is-joined or abort early.  Its too much currentloy to know what to write.

Back to tonight, and my sewage story.

I live in a low-rent basement apartrment, converted in an old house with 4 such apartments. I’ve been in it since Mid March, and it marks the first time I’ve lived alone in 20 years. My last two years were semi-alone as a training period.  I was also outside Toronto, but now I’m back – I have the oppotrtunity to troill by transit and make new stories like my old drug trolling adventures.

But without E, and acid only a fantasy goal these days, I do nothing.

I have hookers picked out. Saved as favourites, and I look at the links every time I’m high.

I consider it.

This is my brain.  I remember a recent orgasm at the hands of a women I didn’t find attractive, but with the aid of speedy E and a Cialis.

It was glorious.

I also have a memory of the Asian hooker I visited a year or so ago.  I was hard, but obcessed and lost it before anything happened, but the shower, rubbing and sucking was fucking awesome, until I lost my zone and obcession sneaks in.

I left embarrassed, even though if I’ just let her start again ina few seconds, I probably would have been fine.

When I moved here, I got high a lot for 3 or 4 weeks, but the e was speedy and not touchy feely. I’d always think of the expence.  I pay for a single orgasm with a woman, and then I forget the feeling – or it fades away, and I am only out the money. The obcession of the event destroys the fun.

I have so many things to think of.  Do I want a wife? Will I sabotauge everyuthing?  If I choose to not be sexually active with my mate, then will I miss it?  I will ALWAYS miss the IDEA of beng able to have sex.

With someboy I love, or somebody I pay.

\I justify that two or three practive hooker evenings, and I may be able to tackle a date.

I’ll still obcess over it too much, unless I can find a way to medicate that, without losing sexual interest from the very same medication.

Why am I here?

My new apartment had a sewage leak in somebody else’s apartment.  The plumber comes n wth tech equipment that reminded me of Ghostbsters.  It beeps at him, and as it beeps faster under my ed, he says; oh oh.

It seems my basement apartment is the head location for water and sewage.  It all comes under my kitchen and bedroom and it is broken, literally.

He has to dig up my apartment.  All of it. All four rooms from the bathroom through the otehsre to the kitchen, under the styove.

We put my whole apartment, except the TV recver and my computer into a truck and I move out.

I troll the web, and find that there is a classified site that actually has drug dealers offering, and more often, asking.

I justify in my head that it is illogical for poloice to be online selling, because it’s a hard case to arrest me for drugds you just sold me, and it offers no levefrage to find a dealer above me.

I deem it safe.

But I geek out and create a freakly bad first impression on the old source I could find, and replies via email are always out of sync, and so Friday and Saturday, and it seems Sunday is a no-show, so I suspect he may just be dicking me around for fun.

\We’ll see.

I’m actually not sure what I want E for in a hotel alone.  I’ve already established I don’t tiotally like the experience anymore.  It offers more negative than positive, although I do usually get 3-5 good orgasms.

I don’t chat. I don’t phone chat.

I don’t play games or interact at all.

I think I should, or would – but I don’t

It pisses me off, but I get high again.

Tonight’s mixture has made me not desire an orgasm, and TV isn’t fun.  I’m not sure what my focus is. I’m a bit zombie… which Is why I smokes the budd, and started writing.

End of Part 1: 7\:04pm

Part 2.  Boosted.

A bit of anxiety about death makes it’s way in, partly to be responsible, and partyly to scare the joy of the high at the start.

I have written many other “if I am dead when you read this, kniow it wasn’t on purpose” letters to the peole who may find me if I die, on drugs.  I’m sad that it will be termed an overdose no matter how I die.

I am fatter each year, and not in shape. If it wasn’t for an oragasm a day – at least – my heart may be weak.

I can stioll walk all day, and I don’t feel unfit… my back hurst first.

I do wind easily when climbing stairs, or othyer ophsyical stuff.

Like moving my entire apartment to a truck, in boxes.

I just moved two months ago, and did this.  It was hard work, emotionally and otherwise.

It will be again.

I used up my philosophies and tyjeories for stress relief and anger or panic or whatever else other people go through.

I stayed calm the whole time, in public, and pretty muvch in private.

And then I got a Hotel and needed to get high.

Vent here perhaps?  No.  I actually feel bad for the landlord.  The other three tenants talk shiut about him and I like him.  He’s ust trying to make a buck and be polite – at least to me.

He’s screwed financially a lot more than I’m screwed inconveniently.

End of part 2.

Heart and brain moving to fast to write, at this moment.



I could ask bloggesres to spread that one.

Ask me about it.  It’s time to spread – or at least give it a shot.


Point: tablets will replace computers if, for the only reason of start times.  Apps play for you in a reasonable time.  Computers still take time.

Time from idea to wrioring is faster on a tablet.

It bhelps evolution.

History changed the day somebody figured out we could write things down.

Pencils and pens were instant, so ideas got to be remembered and recorded.

Instructions to read meant succession of jobs with experiences.


Then we stopped using pencils in the 80’s and ideas didn’t always make kit to joruanl.  They are forgotten or lost to distraction in the time it takes to turn on a windows machine.

End point.

I had the idea to test myself by trying a VIRTUAL 3D World date.

Higher than I would be in a real bar, I can try role play.  Become somebody else. Lie.

I could lie.

The thought never occurred to me.  I can date 27 year olds and even hang out in a cirvcle of friends.

\People live in Second Life, and are quite happy… as long as you don’t know about it.

Virtual Life may be the greatest invention of our time, to bring a social life and new meaning to the world, in a 3D universe.

Be anybody.

It never occurred to me till just now, as I wrote this.

I am about to enter a virtual world with men and women from all over the globe.  They will all be smokin’ n hot.

I don’t have to be me.

ZEPPELIN: A whole blog is worthy on why SNOW CRASH’S prediction of the future is closer than the masses areare.

Except for moving your body, a 3D world is as real as the real woerld – to your brain.  It offers you 100% of the same mental and social skills.

But you can practice and it’s somehow easier than real life.

Stay at home mothers, fathers and everyone else – A virtual life.

End of this part… onward.

CRAP.  It’s gigantic, and the hotel Internet is shared at night.  Slow.

Oh well.

OH |WAIT!  I have second life on here already.



In my zombe like state, I decide it’s noit going to change, so I do the rest and put everything away in my car. Not hidden, but an extra step perhaps, in the


A flood of all the scenarios that exist now, if smoking in my hotel room and blowing the smoke out a cracked window, probably stinks.

It occurs to me NOW that a Hotel is NOT the place to do this.

I culd get in erious, real trouble.

I throw out the wrapper in my hotel room garbage. I’m not smart enough to outsmart drug cops.

Or hotel cops probably


Try to breath slow, and rite it out.

Work it out.

The truth is, I have no idea what kind of trouble I could be in, but at the very least, it will be a change.

Getting caught being crazy, sucks.  I am crazy, and alone, but nobody buyt me underatands how horrible that is.

At least I had a middle class iumage.

I strive to be middle class.

Nice distraction.

WISH: I wish I could find a way to organize my writings, and profit from them. I am very proud of my brain, and evenmn if my writing style is only good, and enjoyable to read. I know that sharing is the only way to tell if I am a wonder, undiscovered – or another William Hung, brimming with undeserved pride.

My brain tells me I am William Hung every day.  Every moment.

Except, the moment it counts.  I have pride in the peson I become, when somebody is standing in front of me. I like the LIVE Jeff very much.  I just don’t like the alone Jeff that much.  He shuts off.

I believe my writings are worthy of fame an d wealth, if hgandled right.

I can’t comprehend how to take my theories and philosophies and stories and even fiction ideas, into anything on my own.  It remains an irritation I can’t seem to tackle… alone.

The obcession over the anicvipation of interaction, and the aftrer-thoughts and reviews of how it went.

At least \I like my smile now.  That was a major step.  Just a few dozen more obstyicles I use as excuses to NOT start dating.

I don’t think I smell. I don’t spit. I have nice teeth. I know I don’t handle the neck/beard thing well enough to impress, but I know that could be started.

I would rather be sincere in a real date situation and find one who knows what I’m worth vs my irritation factor.

I have a quote: I believe men, or at least me, can – and do – fall in love very fast.  I know that I can fall in love with anybody who I get along with for 30 minutes.

I call it; CLICK OR CLASH.

If I feel comfortable with a person, and they have a smile that changes me, I can fall in love.  And then you date, to see if her irritations are deal breakers.

It’s almost a mental point system.  At some point, you overflow and the person is no longer as attractive. Later, not at all.

In some cases, 50% it seems, the points are to high to stay together.

We have made this easier, and now acceot humans DO NOT mate for life, as previously reported.  Evolution socially and globally.

That was an experiment for only the last few tyhousand years, or so we’re tyold.

History could be fiction.

We all accept the best history stories were.

I wonder, if we’d been able to write down stories for recreation, to reflect the times, like TV does today, one book might look very much like a bible.

A book or morality stories using fiction to reflect the times.

I wish I could share with you my ideas.


Tonight, I was going to try a virtual 3D world.

It has loaded.  I’l be back…


I was wrong.

Ideas I have had.  I blog when I smoke MJ, mixed with other stuff, or not.


I don’t have to be me, in REAL LIFE either.

I am responsible for my own stories.  Perhaps I could role play, the Jeff I want to be.

Can I fake confidence?  I believe I try in every sales call.  I have to fake pride and confidence when I make a sale, even if I feel like William Hung.

I could release my writings in so many ways.  Sell a blog on Ebay.

Create a web site where you sell the next page to the story.


Social Media replacement.  You don’t wait for messages.  You read.

A collection of story tellers.  They have a page with a story summary… or a chapter.

If you want to read more, it’s a $1.

Or a point

Or a gift

You then get a personal blog and another chapter of the story.

RE-THINK.  This is not a winning idea.  The Internet isn’t yet ready to become an income source with fan-paid rewards, that isn’t pron.

In my writings, I have blogs on HUGE campain sized ideas that would – could – should be big enough to be an alternative to Facebook.

Not competition conceptually, but in ways to steal precious online time.

I have ideas for businesses big and small.

I have a few clibkers too, WEED IDEAS.

Weed is coming.  It is almost mainstream, at least in my circles.

Weed will change the world when smart people start trying it as much as less-smart people do.

Think of all the ideas you’ve come up with on weed, and add in the smarts and status to think, on an educated advanced level.

I believe history before drug prohibition was responsible for so much. All the firsts. Today, 99% of what we create, are not firsts.  We imprive and market new improvements.

But instead of creating successful MOVIE from scratch, you call it Battleship for recognition.

I believe it failed kiserably this time, but others have won.

A gamble.

8:28.. fear of the rest of the night.  I will fear an overdose.  My heart giving up.  Who knows how sudden.  I did quite a bbit of that stuff.

I suspect I’ll be up late. It is 8:27



Shit. I could end up paying for new drapes and bedsheets and everything. They could demand the room be cleaned.  This smell is unmistakle an probably in the halls.



Light out attempt #1


Next day. Did not get arrested.  Whew.


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