#please stop turning tragedies into spectacles people holy shit!

[quarzkristall]

death and its denial in the modern world.

the new humanity will be drawn by capitalism, changed by the whims of the market, like autumn leaves dancing by the whims of the wind, only to be let to fall to the ground and trampled on. 

its genes and data in the hands of corporations to sell and exploit

there is no society to save. no humainty to heal

lest it be led down a path of eternal non existence, its consciousness mere illusion confined to a screen. from its flee from death, it falls into oblivion, thinking it is immortal. there is no life, no death. no time nor space. only abstract survival, dictated and defined by its numbers and lettters. there is no salvation, nor comfort in the carcass of your dead gods already grown cold if not disintegrated, your preachers  no longer able to collect money from their sheeple or sell lies forever. 

how many catastrophes must this world go through, so one ignorant humanity can learn its mistakes, thinking its so superior when its only a child, a stupid infant. oh but man is just another stupid ape in a cage, throwing shit at curious onlookers, grown docile and stupid in its own confines and its need to turn all life to object to be put in a cage. there is nothing more primitive than a modern human, grown depndent on its screen to comfort it in ignorance while thinking its an omniscient god, to exploit any other form than itself, but in the end its the subject it pretends to be that suffers most.

you could say humanity is in its adolescent stage, clinging to its youth because of how close it is to disintegration and decomposition. rather would you go into total oblivion than face your mortality, stupid ape. but what you are creating in your factories is beyond death, it is the very nothingess you fear. rather would you kill yourself than die. rather would you confine yourself to a box for eternity than return to the earth you try to escape, in so doing destroying any hospitability or home there ever was for you here.

because there is no humanity. i certainly do not want my genes in the hands of corporations to use as they wish, profit as they please. you fear dying alone but i find it an honour to die, move on to just another transformation in an ever changing universe in solitude. id like to die under the shade of a pinetree, listening to the chirping of birds, breathing in the crisp mountain air, when my breath will become wind too. 

its a tragedy that my words only sound banal, because whatever strays from the pseudo-religion that to most people is science an insult to some holy, absolute truth. when science is not a destination, it is a process. truth is dead, though its corpse still somewhat warm to give an illusion of comfort and stablity in a dying world. technology can be a tool, once it no longer has to be defined as such. 

there is no return to an ideal past. the only constant is change, no path to follow but to create. there is no destination, and neither is there a beginning. find your own way, see your own truth, in the depths of dreams or in the corner of your desk. let go of the past, forget the future. exist, that enough is to rebel against a world gone mad trying to put itself into order, calculating its every move because it cant face its own vanity and absurd. exist, breathe now and move with the wind tommorow. there is no meaning in running from death and surviving as a machine, only absurd. once you stop seeking, you will find. chaos is perfection, not a passive ideal but an ever changing and active reality, life itself. 

a quantified self is nothing but a living corpse. the need for control a cry of powerlesness. a cage a confine of insecurity. go. live. let society die, watch it burn. normalcy will go down in flames, with it any comfort will evaporate. the spectacle of institutions and control broken, there will no longer be need for terms as freedom or tolerance, no need for this masturbatory altruism. words can say much, except the most important. find for yourself, the conclusion of this chaotic rant. youve read so far for a reason, or at least thats what you want to think. now go, exist. 

#stupid rant #shitty poem #anarchy #green anarchy

[philipsrose-blog]

Crazy 8 Chapter 1

The door is unlocked. Come in and see the show. I put on quite the show. Or maybe I think I still do. But maybe you're not here to see the spectacle.

You wanna fuck? Please don't hurt me! I'm afraid! Go away! No wait! Let know put my mask. We all wear a mask.

I'm still in that basement! And I spend my hours of madness alone in the dark, apart from the mercy of he that did not give his life for me on the cross.

Don't be afraid. It's harmless. A simple point, I'm in the happy place. I can take off my mask. The show begins.

Suddenly waves of pleasure, worlds, no, universes beyond anything you could wildly imagine pour over you leaving you with no other option other than ripping your clothing off and getting your freak on. Yeah. You're gonna fuck without coming for air for days.

That's the story in a nutshell. But the insanity runs much deeper and you want to hear.

Did I slam last night, right hear in this room? Hardly. No, not at all! Doing so, well, at least at this moment would not help me get Sally Pickles back and that's all I want.

Who is Sally Pickles, you ask? Well, it's complicated and I'm not sure where to start.

Let me start from the beginning.

"Are you sure? Because once I push this plunger and it goes into your veins, you will be an addict. "Look around you. Everything you see and love, they're gonna go away.. Your gonna lose everything."

He didn't know me. sure. But he knew the Bitch, Tina, Crystal Meth and the world of insanity it gives birth to. In an instant I fucking knew I had been enslaved.

From that moment on my life was in ruins and I have struggled every moment of every day with the most life ruinning addiction on the planet.

They say it's a sex drug and it is. Well, at least for the first twenty minutes for the first few months., Later the apps on your phone call out to you and drag you away to search endlessly for what, I never knew and never found.

In the end it becomes only about finding someone who can "Admin," find a vein in your arm, and someone who isn't going to steel your shit.

That always proved impossible and it played deep into the worst of an unspeakable early life tragedy. It's like finding yourself forever locked in that basement with your abducter, outside the presence of a God that I am not really sure I want to be with, if he even exists at all.

I have overdosed 17 on the bitch and I wish I could even lie and make you believe they were all mistakes. But why should I give you the shallow comfort of believing that you could be smart enough to not make that mistake. It would be a lie and I want to tell you the truth.

From the second the 15000 pleasure endorphins hit your system it's only a matter of time. You are going to have come down and you are going to get some more and slam again. And that's when you do it. As suicidal idiation goes, clinically speaking, you won't kill yourself at rock bottom. You're in too much pain. But trust me, once you shoot up again the thoughts are still there and you are motivated.  You are going to kill yourself.

Are you afraid? Do you still want to try it? I'll delve a little deeper. But how can I tell you without having you think me mad?

Truth be told, Meth is maness.

Sitting at my window, peering endlessly into the night at strange people outside my door, a white Chevy Vega Station Wagon pulls up outside my old first floor apartment and about fifty people, all appearing to be in their early twenties jump out and start spreading like fire ants at a picnic.

It quickly became toxic.

Running into the yard behind the two buildings vertically to the front of my own, they all gather at bathroom window of the Pentecostal minister who keeps the ugliest pigeon pea tree outside his living room window.

They are climbing in and out  of that tiny window at the same time, exiting with brown bag lunches. Seeing me, they run behind my building and listen to my thoughts through the electrical outlets.

I have to warn Peggy, my friend not to look out the window or she might have to make them lunch.

But they read my thoughts, smashed her window and  dragged my poor friend out, over the jagged shards sticking up from the window frame. As I say there in horror I could do only one thing, I called the police.

As the Orange County Sheriff's Department cars poured into the lot, Red, Philp's biggest customer, a man I loathed for his desire of my boyfriend, jumped out and yelled "Saddle up!" And quickly they all began jumping back into the car through the backseat windows that Vegas don't even have.

Running out in my underwear, thank God I had not come to grips with my being a transgender female yet, I began waving my arms intotal desperation, screaming "Stop them they killed Peggy!"

Then, suddenly there were bright lights and guns pointed at me.

"Please! I'll show you!"  I waved my arm to lead them, but only one followed.

Standing at the scene pointing at Perry's smashed window, the deputy placed his hand on my shoulder and whispers, "It's ok."

Suddenly, we were standing alone in the Florida night. It wasn't real. "What the fuck is going on? Philip is going to think I'm crazy! "

"Phil Snyder? You're dating Phil Snyder?" " No! His name is Philip! " "Yeah. That's him. Let's go to your apartment and talk."

Back inside my apartment my apartment he said only four words "Get away from him." Then he placed a small piece of paper with a phone number on my kitchen and walked out.

In the morning before Philip got home, I guess I should mention that Philip cooked Crystal Meth for a living, I dialed the number. "New Horizons. May I help you?"

It was a drug rehab. I quickly hung up the phone and slammed. And shortly after that Philip came home with food from IHOP.

Looking back, before Tina, the bitch, I wonder. Would you believe that I used to be a body builder, that I would run five miles every day, that I was a vegetarian and later a pescatatarian?

I was impossibly strong, at my best benching 525. But that was with the help of the needle, yes, steroids. And that's when I met him.

My spotter, Bob, leaned over the bar and whispers "There's this guy who's been checking you out over by the treadmill." When I saw him, probably the cutest guy on the planet, I waved and asked Bob to leave.

"Hi. I'm Philip." I could tell he was smart. "Hi my name is Joseph." But he thought I was making fun of him and went to walk away. But I walked after him and apologized. And then he invited me to lunch.

Long story short,we end up at my place and it's getting hot. But holy fuck, 14 inches! And that's when I met the bitch. Three days and two 8 balls later we came up for air and ordered pizza. And when he saw me trembling he wrapped his long legs around me and held me in his arms. "I've watched you for so long and now if you want I will always be there to hold you when you tremble." It was,has always been and shall always be the most romantic moment of my life.

He moved in a few hours later and my life has never been the same.

You're always gonna try and slam more than the last time I quickly learned. I started seeing objects moving back and forth on tables and my Florida Windows, locked tightly, were opening and closing on their own, night and day. I thought Philip to be hard of hearing because he never heard the music that kept coming out of the air conditioner every time I turned it on. It was driving me crazy!

Finally Philip did an inventory of his stock, a 75 pound package hidden behind the false wall we had built in the closet and he laughed. In 16 days I had gone through 2 ounces 1.5 grams. I was already a full blown addict and I remember us jumping in the air giving high fives at the amount I had been using. I was a rockstar!

I had been alone for all my life and suddenly I wasn't. I no longer found myself hiding  behind the illusions of who I was expected to be. I could finally take off my mask and reveal myself without gear of persecution.

Philip gave me a Meth allowance and he allowed me to invite friends from a list of slammers ,  Grand Slammerz as we were and are still known as, to Party and Play when he went out to cook a load every week or so. Sodom and Gomorrah had been resurected in our apartment.

For most and best part there was Philip and me, Vagita, Kevin the carpet tweeker,  Leo Biggie, Angel, Gunner, Mike, Christian, and the occasional stray or random.

At one point I even partied with the Bolivian Consulate to Florida.

Now, a funny thing happens you're a slammer. You stop eating and about the only time you do drink is to wash the taste of the ass you just ate out of your mouth. So, I guess in a sense you do eat, if you consider ass a meal.

My slamming Had not distorted my perspectives to the point where I didn't realize that I actually had to eat though. Wait! who the fuck am I kidding? About the only thing I put into my body besides Tina, cock and Philip's cum was a single cup of plain, steamed white rice, one Sunnyside up egg and homemade, sugar free lemonade everyday, never more, never less. My best friend Vagita worried and was the only one who voiced concern.

One night when I was heading into the shower to get myself ready for a night with Vagita and the carpet tweaker I happened to get a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror. Holy fuck! what the fuck? Who the fuck, no what the fuck am I? I had gone from being a bodybuilder, a raging bull, to a stick figure. It was insane. I ran into the walk in closet and grabbed my scale.

I have gone from 256 pounds with 14% body fat to an unbelievable 139 pounds with 8% body fat. I screamed for Philip and he came running in.

"Do you like it" he asked . I had always his my femininity behind my weight lifting. "I do?. It kinda makes my dick look longer.  After that we both ended up slammed out of our minds, fucking in front of our guests all night and into the next. The aftermath was toys everywhere.

From that point though I realized that I had to increase my calorie intake. If I wanted to increase my slams beyond what anyone could believe. My passion had become to slam the most and eventually I reached a hight that no one I know has ever touched. I slammed an entire 8-ball.

But that's something for a later chapter.

I was never really a coffee drinker, but when you slam is by the gram, as I was, you end up alone in a room full of passed out tweakers from time to time and sometimes just in an an empty apartment after everyone has gone home.. So what to do? What the fuck do I do now? I would go for a walk on South Semoran Boulevard to the new hot spot, WaWa.

If you hadn't heard they serve coffee and oddly enough I was in the mood.

About the hardest choice in being a meth head is do I slam, smoke or booty bump. This coffee thing was insane. There were like 9 different types of coffee and a dozen different types of mills and creamers! I would always end up up choosing the Cuban and going with the Splenda and half n half. It was the best cup of coffee I had ever tasted in my life.

On this particular night, sitting there in the night, alone with my 18 ounce cup of Cuban heaven I was content just listening to the Florida night. It was the first time I had been alone and out in public in a couple of months. Philip was overly protective of me and I didn't mind it in the least. I actually loved the fact that for the first time in my worthless like someone needed me, someone beautiful needed me. We needed each other. Suddenly, I yearned to get home and sleep with him, wrapped in each other's arms with Sally Pickles nestled safely between us.

Sally Pickles. God I'm in such pain right now. God lied to me. Me never believe in God.

I met Sally Pickles on December 24th, 2013. My father had b-een murdered by my stepmother. She'd thought it the humane thing to do to stop feeding and hydrating him. By the time I'd gotten the call my dad was dead, just a heart beating inside a bag of skin and bones. I never got to say goodbye. Seeing how depressed I'd become, my Mon that bought me to meet Sally Pickles.

When I saw her sitting in her cage my heart was broken. The poor little girl was quivering in fear.  And when I picked her up she look up at me and reaching her paws up licked my chin. From that moment on there was not a time that we were not together for more than a couple of hours. But now she's been stolen by a woman who calls herself a reverend, a Pat Bumgardner of the Metropolitan Community Church of New York City. Again, long story, but we'll get there.

By the time I got home Vagita had left, the carpet tweaker had recovered about an 8 ball of shards of Tina from the carpet and Philip was in the shower. The three of us decided to head over for some IHOP. The stuffed French toast was mind boggling, but I only had one piece. Sally Pickles ate the rest .

After that we headed over to Lake Eola Park and spread out a blanket so that all 3 of us could cuddle. Kevin was an amazing cuddle. We just laid there and unwound for a few hours. It was really nice, all three of us pressed against each other in the cool shade with Sally Pickles laying on my chest I finally fell asleep. I had been awake for 6 days.

That night Philip left to go cook and I that's when I met Christian, well, I guess I should say the first time I chose him from the list.

Christian was into getting fisted and if I'd had a dollar for every time I'd shot a load watching fisting videos I'd either be really rich or broke. I never could save a fucking dime.

It was kind of strange watching this guy come in with actual pro camera equipment. I mean, the fucking guy had some really good shit, all pro! So I was like, you can't film in here. This is Philp's apartment just the same as it is mine and I don't think he's gonna be happy. He laughed and asked if  was tweaking. Then he asked if  I could at least call him and ask, which was difficult due to where Philip was and what we were doing but reasonable and still early enough to do. So I made the call and because I was considerate enough of his privacy, he said we could.

My life is falling apart as I write this and I will let you know that this might be the last few days of my life. The horrible truth is that Sally Pickles was stolen from me by the church I'd mentioned and if I can't get her back I have no reason to not go for the unthinkable ounce slam, that this hell might finally find peace, wether or not there is a God and if there is, why did He punish me so harshly.

Philip is gone. His life ended on February 19th, 4 days after I finally broke down and said yes. I had agreed to become his forever. He'd burned his meth lab and left the laptop there. They'd found it recovered every fucking crumb of data and indicted him.

To give you an idea, the Sippie thing was on that hard drive. He never took into account that he had worn a fucking mask. We all wear a mask! So it was a mother fucking skull fuck! He was facing the fucking needle.

As my year was going, I had a Jesus freak neighbor who was making me lose my fucking mind. This son of a bitch wouldn't keep his fucking mouth shut! Having to wake up every morning to this psycho bsstard begging Christ to heal me had me over the edge and it had caused an argument between Philip, still in Florida and me, now in the Bronx.

The night before Philip took his life I had gone to a sex party behind his back. Itt had left my mind in a place I'd never known before and I had no idea what to do .This  I ended up making a mistake I might regret forever.

Philip and I  had an argument about my neighbor. Philip wanted me to just ignore him but it's fucking impossible to ignore someone yelling through paper thin walls at you at the top of their lungs.

My last words to the love of my life were "Ignore him? Like this?" and I hung up on him and blocked him. But I swear I never meant to hurt my baby.

I had seen a guy at that sex party and he had consumed my thoughts. We spoke only, a few words to each other and then we hooked up.  He had entered the place in my heart where no living soul had  ever been. His name was Ivan. He was everything I wanted Philip to be.

When the indictments were handed down he tried to reach out to me but I wasn't there! Oh my God! I wasn't there for him and he'd always been there for me just as I'd always talked him through his nightmares! I let him down and now he's dead and it's my fault.

To compound matters, my neighbor pulled a knife on me one Sunday afternoon as I was doing laundry and the cops were called. In the end, because they could not see the knife on the camera I was arrested and charged with filling a false report by the ultra transgenderphobia 42nd precinct of the N.Y.P.D.

They locked me in a cell with a toilet that wouldn't flush and had no water in it after several people had shit in it. It was fucking horrible. On top of that they marched prisoner after prisoner to my cell threatening to put them in with "The freak."

A few weeks later I saw him again Ivan, Ivan Dudnik. We ran into each other on a Friday and spent the most incredible weekend together. Then on Sunday, as we marched in pride he asked me to marry him.

It was God fucking dammed crazy. But there we were the next morning at city hall getting married.

I'll talk more about Ivan later on. But he did walk out on me 17 days later for a woman, the bitch, yep, you guessed it, Tina.

Now, as we go through what lawyers are calling the Armageddon divorce, Ivan has made allot of false accusations against me and I ended up having to spend 3 days in jail trying to clear my name. In the process Sally Pickles was to have been babysat by a church that stole her and gave her to a family within the church.

I will know within the coming 48 hours if I will get her back.

On top of all of this, as I ride the 3 train home right now to my shelter in Brooklyn, I do so mourning Steven, a guy I had just begun seeing. The bitch took him tonight.

She took Philip, she took Ivan and now she has taken Steven. Needless to say, about the only thing I'm holding on to is the hope that I will be with Sally Pickles before the weekend. If not, the bitch can have one more.

Life is just too fucking horrible right now. It's like trying to drink sour milk when you're blasted ass drunk off your rocker. All you wanna do is puke your life out.

I have to argue though. I love Crystal Meth and I live to slam 8 balls.

so I guess you wanna hear about it, the fucking crazy 8 as I alone know it. And that's ok just don't fucking pretend like you don't wanna know.

When I do it I have to be in a place where I can freak the holy fuck out for at least 3 days, out of the earshot of any good fucking Samaritans. Because there's nothing worse than having some dickhead worry about you when you are in the middle of an unstoppable constant orgasm. And that's what happens. As soon as the shit pours into my veins I start shaking and my dick starts shooting com like I was pissing it. I end up with mouths full and I make some fucking demon possessed noises. Then I catch my breath and the fuck fun begins.

It's me alone. Remember, I told you, someone who can find a vein who won't steal your shit? Impossible. Plus the fact that I have subway tunnels for veins, I do it my fucking self. And I have no problem fucking myself hard.

Break out the toys! It's time to play! Ok, just one now, actually two and I'm looking to up size. So I go for the 14 by 8 inch first and ram it right in! Instant second orgasm! I go with that one for about a day and half, leaving me perfectly ready for my own fist which I'm only able to take for a short while before I cramp and have to stop altogether. So I tend to put that aside these days. Anyways, at that point I usually break out the 24 inch and it disappears inside of me, no problem at all.

Shit! That's not what you wanted to hear.I guess I'm still trying to put on the show, quite the show.

You want to know how it feels. Tell the truth. You fucking know you wanna try it just once. Again, who the fuck am I to lie? It's scary as fucking death the first time and you really think you're dropping dead. It burns your lungs ice cold like a fucking bitch and no matter what, you just have to remember to keep breathing as fast as possible until the wave evens out inside of you. It's impossibly amazing.

The first time I did it I was just about to give Philip the distress signal for him to dial 911 but I looked down and he was enjoying the shower of cum I was spewing so I waited and was glad I had.

You really need to be with someone that knows what to do and won't panic. You need to listen and get talked through it or yeah, you're gonna panic and end up in the emergency room, jail or prison. I don't recommend slamming an entire 8 ball, needless to say. But you're gonna do what you want to do.

Just don't say I didn't warn you.

The biggest problem you're gonna have is psychosis, instant chemically induced psychosis. That's why you totally can't do this. You're not ready to see the demons, the fucking shadow people. And once you see them they see you and they never leave you alone. They listen to your thoughts. The voices are really real, not auditory hallucinations, but rather the voices of those who don't know they are dead because they were high when it happened.

For the most part, they gather in parks, where they feel at peace from those who cannot see them.

"Hey genius. Wake up." I  was in Demetree park, naked with a 10 foot gator some 30 feet away. How the fuck did I get here? My ass is killing me!  "Yeah. I tried it and passed out. When I woke up you'd placed a Craigslist ad to find you here ass up with this in you." And he pulled the dildo out. "

I'll never know just how many times I got pounded that night. There were allot of freshly used condoms there, not yet baked by the Florida sun.

I had been there for only one night. But for months people were asking me when I was going to hang out in the park again.

[crazy8man-blog]

Crazy 8 (chapter 01)

Most times, if not all, there's no one there except the occasional passerby and the rare someone. So, I sit there in silence, pondering, debating the inevitable words that always escape my lips, The door is unlocked. Come in and see the show. I put on quite the show. O.k. maybe I think I still do. And if you're not here to see the spectacle then why exactly are you here?  Are you a cop? Hey you wanna fuck? Please? I'm really a good fuck? All I ask is, please don't hurt me! I'm afraid!  Just don't expect me to share my shit! Oh fuck! Please don't leave! No! Don't go away! I can throw you a slam. No wait! Can you self admin?Let me know. I can if you don't fucking watch me. I'm gonna put on my mask! We all wear a mask.

I open the door and there's nobody there. It was the fucking shadow people.

I'm still in that basement! And I spend my hours of madness alone in the dark, apart from the mercy of he that did not give his life for me on the cross.

Don't be afraid. It's harmless. A simple point, I'm in the happy place. I can take off my mask. The show begins.

Suddenly waves of pleasure, worlds, no, universes beyond anything you could wildly imagine pour over you leaving you with no other option other than ripping your clothing off and getting your freak on. Yeah. You're gonna fuck without coming up for air for days.

That's the story in a nutshell. But the insanity runs much deeper and you want to hear.

Did I slam last night, right hear in this room? Hardly. No, not at all! Doing so, well, at least at this moment would not help me get Sally Pickles back and that's all I want.

Who is Sally Pickles, you ask? Well, it's complicated and I'm not sure where to start.

Let me start from the beginning.

"Are you sure? Because once I push this plunger and it goes into your veins, you will be an addict. "Look around you. Everything you see and love, they're gonna go away.. Your gonna lose everything."

He didn't know me. sure. But he knew the Bitch, Tina, Crystal Meth and the world of insanity it gives birth to. In an instant I fucking knew I had been enslaved.

From that moment on my life was in ruins and I have struggled every moment of every day with the most life ruinning addiction on the planet.

They say it's a sex drug and it is. Well, at least for the first twenty minutes for the first few months., Later the apps on your phone call out to you and drag you away to search endlessly for what, I never knew and never found.

In the end it becomes only about finding someone who can "Admin," find a vein in your arm, and someone who isn't going to steel your shit.

That always proved impossible and it played deep into the worst of an unspeakable early life tragedy. It's like finding yourself forever locked in that basement with your abducter, outside the presence of a God that I am not really sure I want to be with, if he even exists at all.

I have overdosed 17 times on the bitch and I wish I could even lie and make you believe they were all mistakes. But why should I give you the shallow comfort of believing that you could be smart enough to not make that mistake. It would be a lie and I want to tell you the truth.

From the second the 15000 pleasure endorphins hit your system it's only a matter of time. You are going to have to come down and you are going to get some more and slam again. And that's when you do it. As suicidal idiation goes, clinically speaking, you won't kill yourself at rock bottom. You're in too much pain. But trust me, once you shoot up again the thoughts are still there and you are motivated.  You are going to kill yourself.

Are you afraid? Do you still want to try it? I'll delve a little deeper. But how can I tell you without having you think me mad?

Truth be told, Meth is maness.

Sitting at my window, peering endlessly into the night at strange people outside my door, a white Chevy Vega Station Wagon pulls up outside my old first floor apartment and about fifty people, all appearing to be in their early twenties jump out and start spreading like fire ants at a picnic.

It quickly became toxic.

Running into the yard behind the two buildings vertically to the front of my own, they all gather at bathroom window of the Pentecostal minister who keeps the ugliest pigeon pea tree outside his living room window.

They are climbing in and out  of that tiny window at the same time, exiting with brown bag lunches. Seeing me, they run behind my building and listen to my thoughts through the electrical outlets.

I have to warn Peggy, my friend not to look out the window or she might have to make them lunch.

But they read my thoughts, smashed her window and  dragged my poor friend out, over the jagged shards sticking up from the window frame. As I sat there in horror I could do only one thing, I called the police.

As the Orange County Sheriff's Department cars poured into the lot, Red, Philp's biggest customer, a man I loathed for his desire of my boyfriend, jumped out and yelled "Saddle up!" And quickly they all began jumping back into the car through the backseat windows that Vegas don't even have.

Running out in my underwear, thank God I had not come to grips with my being a transgender female yet, I began waving my arms intotal desperation, screaming "Stop them they killed Peggy!"

Then, suddenly there were bright lights and guns pointed at me.

"Please! I'll show you!"  I waved my arm to lead them, but only one followed.

Standing at the scene pointing at Peggy's smashed window, the deputy placed his hand on my shoulder and whispers, "It's ok."

Suddenly, we were standing alone in the Florida night. It wasn't real. "What the fuck is going on? Philip is going to think I'm crazy! "

"Phil Snyder? You're dating Phil Snyder?" " No! His name is Philip! " "Yeah. That's him. Let's go to your apartment and talk."

Back inside my apartment he said only four words "Get away from him." Then he placed a small piece of paper with a phone number on my kitchen and walked out.

In the morning before Philip got home, I guess I should mention that Philip cooked Crystal Meth for a living, I dialed the number. "New Horizons. May I help you?"

It was a drug rehab. I quickly hung up the phone and slammed. And shortly after that Philip came home with food from IHOP.

Looking back, before Tina, the bitch, I wonder. Would you believe that I used to be a body builder, that I would run five miles every day, that I was a vegetarian and later a pescatatarian?

I was impossibly strong, at my best benching 525. But that was with the help of the needle, yes, steroids. And that's when I met him.

My spotter, Bob, leaned over the bar and whispers "There's this guy who's been checking you out over by the treadmill." When I saw him, probably the cutest guy on the planet, I waved and asked Bob to leave.

"Hi. I'm Philip." I could tell he was smart. "Hi my name is Joseph." But he thought I was making fun of him and went to walk away. But I walked after him and apologized. And then he invited me to lunch.

Long story short,we end up at my place and it's getting hot. But holy fuck, 14 inches! And that's when I met the bitch. Three days and two 8 balls later we came up for air and ordered pizza. And when he saw me trembling he wrapped his long legs around me and held me in his arms. "I've watched you for so long and now if you want I will always be there to hold you when you tremble." It was,has always been and shall always be the most romantic moment of my life.

He moved in a few hours later and my life has never been the same.

You're always gonna try and slam more than the last time I quickly learned. I started seeing objects moving back and forth on tables and my Florida Windows, locked tightly, were opening and closing on their own, night and day. I thought Philip to be hard of hearing because he never heard the music that kept coming out of the air conditioner every time I turned it on. It was driving me crazy!

Finally Philip did an inventory of his stock, a 75 pound package hidden behind the false wall we had built in the closet and he laughed. In 16 days I had gone through 2 ounces 1.5 grams. I was already a full blown addict and I remember us jumping in, the air giving high fives at the amount I had been using. I was a rock star!