w00t

unconditional acceptance to the University's Honours programme. score three for Blofeld.

I, arch-villain

that's right, it's time for more information than you wanted about Lepht's fucked-up relationship with its ex. i write it down because it makes me feel better, so go 'head and ignore it.

i've been informed - and looking at his LiveJournal (yes), my source was entirely correct - that w3dyt has become rather obsessed with this 'beating me at grades' idea. i'm told he no longer even tells people who he means to 'win' against, or how - it's ingrown into his head that i, Lepht Anonym, am the academic equivalent of Blofeld, stroking my pet gimp as i hog all the best jobs and grades, laughing at him, surrounded by a cadre of cronies i've hypnotised into following me. in this scenario, w3dyt is of course James Bond, who is going to beat Blofeld because he is the hero and that is what always happens with heroes. it would seem that success on my part has been needling him ever since he decided that the break-up - which was a joint effort in failure - was to be my dain-bramaged doing.

this frightens me, and makes me sad. frightens me because there's more opportunities for him to be angry when i do well coming - the CSD welcome address, for instance, where i'll be up on stage in front of him recieving prizes i won and he didn't - or class, where i'm fairly sure he is going to find out about the forementioned pet gimp and try to do something about it. as we've seen, if he decided to, the question of who'd be crying in the back of the ambulance isn't a hard one.

it makes me so sad because this is so far from what academia should be about. i hear ya - how can someone who writes in all smalls possibly tell us what academia is about? - but i didn't get the idea on my own; it came from the open-source scene here, and from the University itself, and from the guys with doctorates i hang around with these days, of whom i ain't one yet. w3dyt says he's going to 'win' because he thinks of what we do as a contest, where if you didn't get the highest marks, you lost. but it's not like that - we're not here to fight. we're here to collaborate. we're here to help each other learn, get degrees, go out into the world and use that knowledge to help other people who have different knowledge, because in turn, they help us.

it makes me sad that a guy with so much potential - not to be top of the class, but to act as any smart human being can, as a collaborator to help other human beings - is wasting his energy on this futile, puerile inferiority complex. he's not going to 'beat me'. if he did, i wouldn't care - if he got a research job that i didn't, it would mean that he was the one who could contribute more to computing science in that particular post. if he got a first and i got a second-class degree, it would mean that he worked harder than i did, and in contrast to a year or two years ago, that would impact my self-esteem not in the slightest. i am less fragile, now, than he thinks.

i hope this obsession fades from his mind once term starts. i hope his friend on LiveJournal stops placating him by telling him it's OK to have a bitter commitment to tearing a person down, even one that will never work. and i hope he gets a boyfriend or girlfriend who really does love him, who'll distract him from thinking about me, because if it doesn't, the friend doesn't and he doesn't, i can't see that this is going to end healthily.

L

PS. i retract what i said about the novel. it occurs to me that having a literary penchant makes me a verbose, pompous motherfucker, and possibly isn't therefore all that 'sweet'.

holy shit

i've written 24,250 words of a mutated story, and i have no idea when i'ma be done with the fucker. sweet.

accolades

turns out i won two prizes in CS this year, one for first-year AI (which i don't think i shoulda got since i'm in second year, but they really liked my article on using AI techniques in security, and i got the best grades in the exam, natch) and the other the O'Reilly Prize in Computing Science. they're giving me a mystery parcel that i gotta go pick up, and apparently at the welcome session this year the prizes are good for £150 worth of books. (the mystery parcel is taunting my curiosity by waiting in a Department office until Thursday.)

i'm gonna be able to afford textbooks!

L

PS. who knows, maybe i will make top of the class in something next year.

things i shouldn't laugh at at 20 years old:

that armpit-fart noise you get when you're both all sweatied up during sex; wheely-chairing across the lab because i can't be arsed to get up and walk; the lives of the local overprivileged emo children; the horrified facial contortions of the Jehovah's Witnesses i wave at when i see them coming out of their Kingdom Hall every so often on my way to work; toddlers' mothers whose frantic attempts to silence their children as said wormbabies point at my junkie ass (asking loudly why that man has things drawn on his face like Captain Jack) are utterly useless; the fact that my flatmates bought my pet gimp a dog bed that says "good boy" and has pictures of happy bone-clutching yellow labradors on.

i'll be 21 in nine days. doesn't seem like it's gonna bring much maturity with it, no?

L

six months

so ten minutes or so ago, we got an 8-node Kerrighed Beowulf cluster working with Bio-Linux. i've never had access to this sort of computing power before; 18Gb of RAM, 3Tb of storage and 10 Opteron CPUs - it's a behemoth made from nothing more than off-the-shelf components. it's utterly fucking stunning.

working this job mostly makes me think i've died and gone to hacker heaven. there's the little perks, like i can wear what i want (facial skin divers? circuits and vines drawn around my eye socket? no hair? fine by these guys) and the canteen food is somehow both dirt cheap and delicious (strawberry meringue cheesecake in a box = 50p), and the free coffee and my own goddamn lab - yep, they gave my streetscum ass a lab of my own, and i still boggle at that - but more than that, there's all the shit i'm learning. i've learned more about networking and Linux here than i coulda done in the entire summer by myself, and i've only been here a month. i can't fucking wait to see what else there is.

as if that wasn't enough, not only are they gonna be paying me in a month what i thought i'd make in the whole term of employment (i'll be able to afford my big ink way sooner than i thought), but i'm gonna get to go to Milan, to help out at one of our partner institutes for a week. i'll get to play with a huge cluster they built out of garbage.

looking back at six months ago, when i was stuck in an abusive relationship, broke as fuck, dependent on escapism and drugs to survive, i can't believe i survived that long with major depression. i was so lucky not to get any more fucked up than i did. i didn't think it was all that bad at the time, even, but looking back on it makes things these days seem like a fucking dream; i just used to always have this sense that something was wrong, that i needed to get away. i'm so fucking happy compared to back then.

if i'm asleep, i don't wanna be woken up.

L

implants! aliens! vampires! STAY IN YOUR HOMES

so i was googling to see what other people have come up with in the way of homebrew implanted technology. what i discovered is that a few have neodyms like me, a few have RFID chipped themselves (fewer of us seem to do that than have the neodyms, weirdly) and there's not a lot else out there.

what i also found is that far, far more of them are batshit, underpants-on-head insane.

take one Sherry Shriner, for instance. there's something seriously wrong going on here; something, in fact, that looks a lot like classical schizophrenia to me, although i'm pretty sure i'd get called a "black op" for saying that in these nutjobs' world. Sherry's convinced that aliens put implants in your fucking ears.

not only that, but Sherry is also telling everyone that neodymium - that's right, Nd-60, the same element ensconced in several places under the skin of my hands as i type, right goddamn next to my EM4102 RFID chip - can deactivate microchips.

the hell it can, lady. i could go demonstrate if i wanted to. people, Nd doesn't deactivate microanything, but it will wipe your credit cards if you get a bigass one like these idiots are asking you to Paypal them for.

on a totally unrelated note, i'm getting sick of this sparkly teenage vampire film Twilight that's drifting around - it just made it over to Europa a couple weeks ago, and already i'm getting the shit. three separate people have accused me of looking like one of the sparkly vampire characters - apparently i'm pale enough to be considered actually undead now.

you'd think a ugly motherfucker like me would escape the whole OMG LESTAT IS KEWT treatment, but no - either i have a self-esteem problem, or the actor that plays this Alice Cullen character is uglier than i would've assumed. i'ma just bite the next person that says it and see if any more people think i'm fucking sparkly.

L
(would prefer a blood transfusion, seriously)

cheer up emo kid

woke up this morning after dreaming that i never broke up with w3dyt, never had anything wrong with my head, never got punched, never had a fight, never got my trust broken, never got ratted out and cut off by the suppliers and had to change my hair and tell my guineapig to fuck off and all that shit, dreaming that we were just chilling on the couch with a couple sodas and some junk, playing the 360 and talking bullshit and it was all like it used to be.

then i woke up, and it doesn't happen often, but for a few seconds my slice of the world looked like a steaming heap of freshly-dumped crap.

so this is a list of some of the shit i do when i'm feeling like ass, stuff i picked up in the hospital, at university and just living - shit i know works for me. maybe it'll work for other people too.

0000. cook stuff. last time it went kinda wrong and what i ended up with was snickerdoodles that were better off being put to use as blunt weapons, and the image of your favourite crippled junkie wetware hacker baking cookies is probably fucking hilarious (it sure as hell amused my meatspace peeps), but seriously, cook, make a fucking turkey dinner or whatever. it takes your mind off the bullshit and it gives you a sense of achievement at the end, even if you're as shit at it as i am.

0001. hot bath. enough said.

0010. write novels, paint your room, get a sketchbook, do something creative. program something new, work out some bugs in your favourite open source app. update your monochromatic technology-and-life-related blog that nobody reads. doesn't matter if all you end up producing is a meg-and-a-half of Marty Stu's Adventures in I Am So Great Land, or an IDEful of code that does precisely bupkis, or sixteen pages of scribbled-out monstrosities that not only don't look like the woman you were trying to sketch but would probably make her hit you; it's the effort that does it, you put all the bad that's drifting around your head into what you're doing instead of leaving it there to stew. there's also less conventional creative outlets - my implant jam sessions, for instance, or tattoo design, or planning piercings. make a topiary out of your drunken friend's hair if it makes you feel better.

0011. actually, just do things. chores, laundry, jogging, work, it's all good, cause occupying your brain rather than sitting there is useful.

0100. talk to somebody about what's going on. got a crew, a best friend? if not, you've got a counsellor, or a GP who can get you to one for free.

0101. make sure you've taken all the shit you're supposed to take. i used to get pretty down sometimes when i was really depressed, and believe me, not taking the pills they want you to doesn't help. of course, if you're a normal healthy person, you don't need to worry. get out and do some exercise, you healthy fuck. (kidding, kidding!)

0110. if you've got access to a fuckbuddy, sex will shoot you up with dopamine and endorphines good and proper. if you've got a proper partner with all that hug-me, support-me, hold-me-as-i-fall-asleep jazz, you don't need advice from the likes of my loveless ass.

0111. comfort. i personally don't know what to do for this one, but i'm told by lots of professionals that it's necessary. maybe you've got a soft blanket or a comfy couch you like to lie on; maybe you've got a bull terrier puppy to hug or something, or a giant sweater, whatever comforts you best. (if you'd like to send me a bull terrier puppy to hug...) some of us with broken heads might think that acting on the problem is itself a comfort.

1000. acting on the problem, then: you got bills, start budgeting. you're ill, start planning how to manage it. you got unresolved conflicts in your past that have led to your chronic manic depressive disorder in the present, get to a shrink.

1001. don't do any of the following: hire whores; get wasted (it's a depressant, it's not gonna fucking help); get high if you get stupid, depressed, caught or murderous when you're high; talk to the person who caused all your emotional problems if that's what happened (trust me); go shopping; comfort eat or stop eating at all; paint your room black and decide that Ville Valo is your new idol; start wearing guyliner; put any fiction you've written on the Wired; drop out of university / quit your job. i warned you.

so that's what i do, anyway. anyone got any better suggestions? - L

legality vs. morality

so you're all aware my hobby is a little liminal when it comes to the legal system. the law's unclear as to what it's permissible to do to myself; i can't, as it turns out, do anything to anyone else that involves implants without being in deep, deep shit.

i didn't think i'd find this out by being tattled on. it's not worth my ass to blog about who did it; wouldn't matter much anyway what with this being a dusty little backwater Googlecorner, and i've got a sword over my head now. for the meantime, i don't know whether i'm going back to jail, and the one source of neodymiums there is - Trust, in Mannheim - has stopped exporting to Britain, making the single component i have left the last remaining one on the island. the one consequence that's definitely come outta this snafu is that i will never have a test subject who isn't me again.

before this starts to look too wangsty, let me get into my actual point.

i seem to be such an arrogant cunt that i consider myself above the law, i know, but that isn't actually what's going on in my head; i don't think the law was ever designed for what i'm doing. my attempts at lobbying came to an impasse when i was told to fuck off (because i'm an unqualified peasant and therefore don't get to discuss) by my MSP's office; in my mind, my implants did no lasting or unwanted harm to anyone. they don't violate the Golden Rule, and as such, shouldn't be illegal. i figured i and my buddies had the right to do whatever non-Rule-violating shit we wanted to ourselves.

well, some people don't agree with me, and in the name of doing the right thing, snitched. what i'm interested in is whether i or they are in the right; i'm pretty obviously biased in favour of it being me, and seeing as the one who informed the big guns was someone who previously worked shoulder-to-shoulder with me down in the H+ underground, so to speak, someone who i thought was with me ideologically as well as practically, i'm in no fit state to judge.

on the one hand, i probably did all of my transhumanist stuff up until now in the legal no-man's-land of badly defined prohibitions, and if i get taken to court, i'll have no choice but to plead guilty to whatever they charge me with. i'm fairly sure that the law is not on my side; my whistle-blower assured me that many other people agreed i should be exposed to the authorities and that it was right to go to them.

in addition, other people tell me the laws are intended to stop people from burdening the NHS with their homebrew fuckups. having experienced such fuckups and strived to not do it again, i understand that concern. i can't figure out whether a nanny-state law to prevent us hurting ourselves, NHS or none, is a good idea or not, nor whether there is one as regards implants.

on the other, i thought i had a right to personal bodily sovereignty; none of the components or tools i used are illegal; i never masqueraded as a professional i'm not, i charged no money or trade, and i hurt nobody. if my transhumanist dabblings are a crime, i don't know who the victim is.

the debate in my head has shifted from just Is it right to do these things to yourself? to also include the question, Is it and should it be legal? right now, i'm also wondering Was it wrong to do implants for a consenting, informed friend?

i guess they boil down to Does legality trump my personal ethics, or vice versa?

right now, i don't know. i'll be waiting to see what everyone else decides.

new implants: experimental neodym siting

so i'm trying out a new place to put neodymiums, on the back of the hand. not only that, but i've acquired a test subject - a first year, whose enthusiasm is matched by his total ignorance of exactly how dangerous playing with implantation is. known the guy for a while, and i figured i could trust him, so i decided to do this new siting with both of us, first on me, then my guinea pig buddy. of course, i had to do a fair spiel of explanining first, and i had a lot of dressings and shit to buy. sayonara, food money.

well, those 5mm needles i got a while back are lost'n'gone in the wilds of w3dyt's house, and it being a bad time to show my chronic ass up on the doorstep giving it all "Bitch gimme my needles", i ordered some off bodyhazard, a pretty speedy little Welsh piercer's store i found a while ago, and once they were delivered, i steri'd up and downed a rather over the top cocktail of whiskey, amitryptiline, codeine, diclofenac and paracetamol - my usual pain regime, amped a little and with some Strathisla for good measure. sipping on said excellent drink, it proved to be pretty damn easy painwise.

the problem, and this made me laugh like Hannibal Lecter surrounded by scalpels and needles in my kitchen, is that it's physically really hard for me. it takes all the force i have to puncture the epidermis with a needle, so it's slow, but nothing like the goddamn ordeal we had trying to do fingertip ones. took me about three minutes before i had it in there up to the hilt, and another thirty seconds to get the magnet in. goddamn, it was practically painless. after some bleeding, it slowed down enough for me to get a dressing on, and it's been dandy ever since.

my good guinea pig had a blanket pressed to his face when it came time to do his the next day, which proved to be totally unnecessary; he said it barely registered as pain, but that it was "nasty" feeling the needle go in and getting used to the implant being there. figures, we've got a natural urge to claw them out; not many people like the idea of something beneath their skin, i guess. it ain't natural.

so, here i am, on Valentine's day, with a new implant, and a good few experiments going on. i still feel pretty shitty, what with the amount of things healing on my body and the generic cold that's doing the rounds, and i still disagree that this should be a holiday at all - me and my med buddy were bantering, and came up with the argument that it's kinda like having a special holiday to celebrate having a safe, warm house to live in. it's great for the people who do, but all of us homeless fucks spend the day feeling like crap - wouldn't it be better to just not have the damn day in the first place?

fuck it, i guess i'm just a miserable cunt on Valentine's. miserable, part-mechanical cunt.

'milestone'

two thousand hits. aaaaw yeeeah. *snnrrt*

Lepht Anonym, now with 25% more implants and withdrawal.

so i got this magnetic implant sorted, which is fucking great. i can pick up paperclips, etc, scalpel blades and what you got, but even cooler, i can now feel strong electric currents and all kinds of magnetic fields. the piercer who did the implant has his own done already, and just putting our hands together, you could feel where the magnet was, this sort of weird tingling sensation that isn't what i expected at all. i figured it'd be the feeling of the magnet pulling against the top layer of skin, but it's different. i spent way too much money getting it done, but holy fuck was it worth it.

on the negative side, i also got reminded of why it is i don't have so many friends. a while ago, when the pain got pretty bad, i got a little loose with the alcohol - a few double whiskies in a couple evenings, and i had some cocodamol which i may or may not have been misusing by drinking. at any rate, i knew what i was doing, and i'm not doing it now, both of which sort of escaped a certain buddy of mine, one of about three people i'd been stupid enough to tell about what goes on with my health. said buddy jumped off the conclusion cliff and decided i was some sort of wrist-slashing self-harming alcoholic emo kid, and promptly went to tell my entire professional support network - academic advisor, doc, disability advisor, every fucker - everything the buddy thought was going on, plus a couple things i didn't want anyone knowing about, like the amount of time i've spent in the medical system and the fact that i can't control my own anger without injuring myself.

mostly, i managed to get it under control, but when it comes to the GP, i am boned. the doc doesn't exactly believe my addicted ass that i'm fine. i just got taken off every single painkiller i have, on a reduction regime, just like they give to fucking methheads. starting tomorrow i have codeine and nothing else, and two weeks from today i'm gonna be artificially, totally clean. with nothing to control what's actually fucking wrong with me.

i'm informed helpfully by the doc that 'to be totally honest, it sounds like it's psychological'. thanks, national health service. thanks, buddy who will not be named.

even more metal

two skin divers, one each side of my head. magnet plans have been shifted to the index fingertip of the left hand - which i'm pretty much shitting myself over, since it's gonna be a 5mm needle incision and some painful insertion work - plus circuit design for the thermistors is coming on, and i got (maybe) some help with getting needles and doing the actual surgery for it.

on the minus side, i have the goddamn flu, so it all fucking hurts. worth it though.

more metal in L's body

not a computer component this time, just a set of new subdermal piercings on the back of my left hand, three skin-divers in a triangle. they're a new alternative to microdermals, smaller and much less painful. they're also more permanent. hopefully by tomorrow i'll have one each side of my face, at the corners of my eyes, too - they look like tiny metal discs, sorta like the heads of nails.

i also have an appointment Thursday for an implanted magnet somewhere in my hand, probably under one of the tattoos on my wrists. in addition, i get to meet the guy from the States who piloted all this stuff if i'm lucky; my piercer is his buddy, a guy with blue Celtic knot ink for eyebrows and hair, name's Darryl. absolute legend. more on the magnet and thermistor implants as they come. power to the transhumanists.

GPs and painkillers

if you're getting painkillers from your GP, presumably cause you actually need them and not just because you're addicted (here, that'd be a little from Column A, a little from Column B, and a little more to use as anaesthesia for surgery i was never supposed to perform) there are a few things you should never mention to them:

"Hey, it's been three years I've been on these things now."
"Yeah, they're making me sick and none of these antiemetics are working." (shouldn't have told her that before i tried the metoclopramide.)
"I'm on about 300mg a day, yeah."
"It's making my guts bleed coffee grounds. What'd you mean, haemorrhage?"
or especially, last time: "Ha ha, yeah I'm pretty much fucked without dihydrocodeine now."

i now have a grand total of 90mg per day to stop it all hurting. suffice to say this is like trying to stop up the city reservoirs with Blu-tak, and even this was a compromise between me, the addict / chronic pain patient, and the doc, in whose medical opinion i shouldn't be on anything at all and should, to use the medical terminology, suck it the fuck up. it kind of annoys me that i can't.

so, if you're sick and you need your meds, deal with your side-effects and damage yourself before you tell the jeep. they'll only take the meds away.

L

to the general public:

yes, that is me biting a hole in my arm on the street. yes, those are all bitemarks up my limbs. yes, that is what people like me do when we get that fucking frustrated; i can't do anything else, unless you want me to take it out on one of you instead of on myself, or you wanna see me smash my head into a wall instead. i used to do that before i realised it was fucking my career up. so please, don't give me that 'Please don't bite me, Lepht, you fucking psychopath' stare on the street; i can't help it, alright?

... okay, i'm done. just getting my angries out, like they say. i gotta start again, again, and i'm a little down about it - i've been upchucking my pills, my food, all the acid in my stomach every day for about the last month and a half, and pretty much feeling shit for it. as a consequence, my partner hasn't let me outta his sight for about that long as well, so i've been living out of a carrier bag like a transient in a place with no connection and i've had no way to carry on with studying hacking. so like i said, i gotta start again; i feel like such a useless douche when i'm not learning, especially since i don't have the natural talent most hackers do.

so, i'm gonna start again, again. gotta go reintroduce myself on my old hangouts, gotta review what my head's half-forgotten and the drugs have half-erased. i've got so many buddies to get back in touch with, and a hell of a lot to apologise for, but Lepht Anonym ain't dead yet.

L

ps. to the other guy called Lepht, two things. 1. i'm sorry, but i can't give up my name, it's my name too. 2. if there's anything else i can do, let me know. i don't want hard feelings over this.

lepht can has job?

i actually have a paid form of employment now, which is why nobody's seen me for about a month now. i've got so much shit to catch up on... but man, it's awesome to be employed again. i'm now a researcher with the University until September, when i have to go back to my undergrad degree - basically, a hardware junkie. i'm helping out with a project using RFID to help severely disabled kids tell stories about what happened during their day at school, as the project's resident clankie - seriously, this is one of the best jobs i've ever done. i can has job!

new hardware

i finally have replacement hardware, a Lenovo laptop replete with Windows Vista. Fedora Core 9 comes out on Tuesday, so i'll be jacked up and Linified by Tuesday night and waiting to dump more newbie-hacker crap on y'all. i also have new custom ink lined up for then, and a couple new piercings doing their best to heal up within the confines of my slightly shit immune system, plus new (hot) Scottish nookie, so all in all i'm a pretty happy little bastard right now. i might even have a job.

anyway. few challenges are gonna be working with the Broadcomm chipset for wireless under Core 8 (i seem to remember that needing madwifi), making the weird combo memory card reader and the fingerprint auth device work at all - especially the fingerprinter, i'll be fucking chuffed if i can get that shit working. it's a swiper rather than a presser, too, which makes it harder to hack; i'd want to dust the keyboard, monitor and case for prints, relief one into a mould and make a gelatine finger to test that before i could say i was sure though. biosecurity is pretty cool, but we've all seen it's far from infallible.

does give me a little more trust in Windows, though, although disturbingly i don't think the regular auth protocol has been disabled in favour of fingerprints. i'd have passwords required as well as prints, or as a backup only if the prints failed, but not as an either-or option...

so kids, fingerprints are fun but won't keep the robbers away, Scots are all hardcore motherfuckers, and remember - Tramadol fucks you up.

L

uh, "milestones"

i'm crying with laughter as i'm typing this. Sapiens Anonym just hit both 100 posts...

...and the incredible milestone of 1000 hits.

L

withdrawal

i'm trying to deal with the above motherfucker right now (it being 2:52 in the morning) and it's not working. if you know kiddies who think it's cool to be addicted to opiates, and i do, do me a favour and slap them out of it; this is what you get. pain that's worse than the one you're taking the fucking things for. insomnia cranked up to utter sleeplessness. physical and psychological total dependence on a drug to which your body becomes more resistant day by day, just as day by day you need it more and more, and the doctors become less and less willing to give it to you. you eat too much, you drink too much, you can't work or think or do anything worth doing, and you know it isn't going to get better. i fucking hate this.

anyway, my point is that there are ways of dealing with it, they just don't always work (like tonight). in an attempt to distract myself, i'm sharing my, uh 'wisdom' when it comes to coping with either withdrawal or severe pain - same strategy, different applications. in no particular order:

- distractions. you can't erase pain, but you can make your brain think about something else at the same time. whatever you do don't just lie there hoping it will get better; that way you have no distractions and you just make it worse. internet shopping is good, so is doing your core comps or chilling with your buddies. hit ICQ and talk to someone.

- the old English cure. where i'm from, if you told someone you had terminal leukaemia, their response would be Poor cunt. Sit down and have a cup of tea. laced with Russian Standard, it actually works pretty fucking well, i gotta say.

- get your ass in the hot shower. sounds stupid, but it helps, especially if you got a shower radio (i find some Subway to Sally helps. get it on the Pirate Bay!)

- of course, if you could get your hands on some wimbawe, everyone knows it has a medicinal effect. unfortunately everyone also knows the government hates wimbawe and all who sail on it.

- don't get wasted (a little overeasy is fine). it doesn't help and the combination of alcomahol and drug withdrawal will just make you throw up. likewise try and fight the compulsion to overeat, as you won't throw up, you'll just bloat and sit there for nine hours feeling like you need to throw up.

- play some Xbox if you have it, or Amiga or whatever. personally i don't have any of that shit, but if i did, it'd sure fucking help.

so yeah, gonna try and sleep some now. i'll probably be back before long with more inane, self-pitying tripe.

L