Thursday, September 25, 2008


I've always firmly believed that an individual's neurochemistry is entirely their own business. You want to drink till you bleed? Go ahead. Spoke a couple of cones before bed? Be my guest. Huff butane? Go for your life!

The problem stems when you infringe on someone else's life because of this substance abuse. When the drunk driver crashes and kills the family of four. When the chromer goes into a butane-fuelled convulsive rage and stabs some poor kid at the mall. When the stoner... Ah, fuck, who am I kidding? pot's never gonna hurt anyone.

Every single death currently ascribed to drugs - excluding deliberate suicide - can be totally and one hundred percent blamed on the government, and the War on Drugs(tm).

Overdose! it happens because the shit you buy on the streets is impure! One dimebag is nowhere near as hot as the next! You can used to loading one third of a teaspoon into your rig each hit, but you try a new dealer, and one third of a teaspoon suddenly sends you reeling into a total spinefuck of opiate-induced cardiac arrest and respiratory distress.

Psychosis and mental problems! Caused by improper education and nobody reporting the FACTS. If we could STOP the scare-mongering and let people know HOW MUCH is too much, what's REALLY addictive, what ACTUALLY will fuck you up and not just ALL DRUGS ARE BAD MMMKAY. Because when you tell them that ALL drugs are bad, and they then find out "Hey, wait a minute. This one's okay. Maybe the others are all okay too?" they find up sucking dick for speed in a dingy back-alley and picking the meth sores off their face.

Oh yeah, meth sores and meth mouth. It's not caused by the meth. It's caused because tweakers spend their entire time chasing more meth and not, I dunno, eating some vegetables or showering now and then.

MAN SHOT IN DRUG ROBBERY. Speed fiend was gurning for his next fix. That's the DRUG'S fault, right? Fuck no. It's the government's fault for not providing adequate rehabilitation centres, proper welfare systems; insufficient education about the addiction potential and by forcing them to rely on dodgy street-corner hustlers instead of getting a prescription from the doctor for a week's worth of optically-pure speed for a fucking pittance. 

If I were in power, every drug would be legal but restricted. if you wanted it, you had to go to the doctor and pass a written and verbal examination to see whether or not you know what you're getting into and whether it will be safe and right for you.

Alcohol is legal. Cigarettes are legal. Two drugs that do nothing but rape your body in the most creatively vicious of ways. Two drugs responsible for more deaths, more suffering and more pain in history then EVERY other drug combined. And I'm fine with that. I'm happy for them to be legal. but if THEY'RE legal, then so should be everything ELSE. And if everything ELSE is illegal, then so should they!

Could we get some POSITIVE drug stories for once? It's always 'Today a young man on acid thought he was an orange and leapt off a balcony trying to escape the people he thought were trying to peel him". Why can't you just tell the truth? "Today, a young man on acid realised that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration and that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There's no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and you are the imagination of yourself."

I mean, seriously. In all my life, i have imbibed thousands of tabs, kilograms of pills, gallons of PCP, tonnes of peyote, fields of cannabis, trees of datura and an entire GALAXY of multicoloured uppers, downers, poppers whizzers, laughers screamers and EVERY variation on the phenethylamine or tryptamine structure currently known as psychoactive to mankind.

And I am YET to have a bad trip. I long for one. Am I just stronger then the rest of you? Fuck no. I'm fucking gorgeous, made of iron and dick and the smartest man in the world; but deep down I'm still human! For now, at least. People have bad trips because the government tells them they will have bad trips. Because their friends warn them about 'what to do in case of a bad trip'.

LSD is so ridiculously subjective, if you tell someone that they're going to have an AMAZING time, then they WILL. Because they're on LSD. You cannot overdose on LSD without multiple millions of dollars worth and a cast-iron stomach. you cannot get physically addicted to LSD. LSD does not stay in your spinal fluid forever. You cannot drug test for LSD.

Seriously. Take some acid. This is the bare-knuckle face-burning FACT right here. I am kicking open your skull and jacking off my poisoned fruit RIGHT into your brain.





It will CHANGE YOUR LIFE forever and for the better.

You might not see it that way at first. you might be one of those one in fifty million people who has some kind of complex dopaminergic reaction and thinks they're a goat. but so what? it won't STAY that way. You come down off acid! You go to bed, have a cup of tea and a berocca, you're fine! Hooray!

but, as I always say.

if you don't regret taking acid afterwards, you're not doing it right.

otherwise you're just some guy looking at pretty colours.

Which is fine, really. If that's what you want? Go right ahead. but you're not getting as much out of it as you could be.

but please, DON'T go out and take forty tabs and get hit by a truck. Don't foam at the mouth and rattle the bars of your cage. 

Government is a dumb beast. A simple animal. if you scare an animal, it will either back down and run, or it will turn around and tear your face off.

Timothy leary scared society. Leary was a fool. Drunk with 'celebrity-hood' and his own ego, he became a media clown-and was arguably the single most damaging actor involved in the destruction of the evanescent social movement of the '60's. Tim, with his very public exhortations to the kids to 'tune in, turn on and drop out,' is the inspiration for all the current draconian US drug laws against psychedelics. He would not listen to any of us when we asked him to please cool it, he loved the lime-light and relished his notoriety.

Leary made bastards, criminals and dogs of us all. All those pathetically eager acid freaks who thought they could buy Peace and Understanding for three bucks a hit. he took them and he turned them into the ENEMY OF THE STATE. But their loss and failure is ours, too. What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole life-style that he helped to create...a generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers, who never understood the essential old mystic fallacy of the Acid Culture: the desperate assumption that somebody-or at least some force-is tending the Light at the end of the tunnel.

Albert Hofmann, discoverer of LSD and one of my all-time heroes, called LSD "medicine for the soul" and was frustrated by the worldwide prohibition that has pushed it underground. "It was used very successfully for 10 years in psychoanalysis," he said, adding that the drug was hijacked by the youth movement of the 1960s and then unfairly demonized by the establishment that the movement opposed. 

In December 2007, Swiss medical authorities permitted a psychotherapist to perform psychotherapeutic experiments with patients who suffer from terminal stage cancer and other deadly diseases. Although not yet started, these experiments will represent the first study of the therapeutic effects of LSD on humans in 35 years, as other studies have focused on the drug's effects on consciousness and body. Hofmann supported the study, and continued to believe in the therapeutic benefits of LSD. 

The same is happening with ecstasy.

A small number of therapists, including Leo Zeff, George Greer, Joseph Downing, and Philip Wolfson, used MDMA in their practices until it was made illegal. George Greer synthesized MDMA in the lab of Alexander Shulgin and administered it to about 80 of his clients over the course of the remaining years preceding MDMA's Schedule I placement in 1985. In a published summary of the effects, the authors reported patients felt improved in various, mild psychiatric disorders and other personal benefits, especially improved intimate communication with their significant others. 

In a subsequent publication on the treatment method, the authors reported that one patient with severe pain from terminal cancer experienced lasting pain relief and improved quality of life. However, few of the results in this early MDMA psychotherapy were measured using methods considered reliable or convincing in scientific practice. For example, the questionnaires used might not have been sensitive to negative changes and it is not known to what extent similar patients might improve from chance or from psychotherapy.

The therapeutic potential of MDMA is currently being tested in several ongoing studies, some sponsored by the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies. Studies in the US and other countries are evaluating the efficacy of MDMA-assisted psychotherapy for treating those diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or anxiety related to cancer. In a newspaper interview, the researchers from the South Carolina PTSD study report tendencies for some participants to have reduced disease severity after MDMA psychotherapy. However, these reports focus on individual participants. Statistical results from the entire study will need to be published and, ultimately, results will need to be confirmed in studies by other scientists to demonstrate the efficacy of MDMA as a psychotherapeutic agent.

But there are kids out there who want to dance and have a good time. Please do! I want you to enjoy yourselves! Because my friends all dance; and if you don't dance, then you're no friend of mine. but if you want to be the hard man, the tough guy. if you want to take twenty three dexies and eight superspun quad-stacked hard rolls and get absolutely fucking munted and scull a bottle of vodka and get in a FIGHT... Go the fuck home.

MDMA is easy to make. Almost as easy as speed. So when organised crime - The bikies, the gangs, the triads - see five hundred people in a warehouse who will pay $50 for a little chunk of pure profit, THEY WANT IN. And they go in. They learn the process of manufacturing MDMA. Then they cut corner. Cheapen it, shortcut. They wind up with MDMA, but it's dirty. it's gakked. it's got little side chains, it's been poorly cleaned. Then they grab whatever else they have on hand, talc, speed, ketamine - And they rock it up in the press and stamp out these little multicoloured bastards. An ecstasy lab is basically a license to print money.

The government is working to stamp out organised crime. Good on them. it's what they should be doing. But Ecstasy is seen as directly stemming FROM organised crime. So every time you kids buy pills, you feed the war machine. You feed the hate gangs and the race crimes. You give the government an excuse to stamp on you, because you're HELPING THE ENEMY.

Finally, we are seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

Finally, we are waking. People are listening to sense. People are asking the right questions. People like MAPS, and Tribe Earth, and Global Shamanism Forum.

Learn to make your own. it's not hard. Read a high-school chemistry textbook and get some information from those in the know. use your head, and pretty soon we'll have a revolution on our hands - Something unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. Clean MDMA, a dollar a gram, on every street corner. Peace, love, unity and respect. For everyone. Now and forever.

Play god and fuck robots: The world is changing.

If a guy has a prosthetic leg, is he still human?

Sure. It still does the same job, right? Does what you tell it to, walks fine?

What if he had two prosthetic legs? Artificial arms? A plastic heart? Carbon fibre bones? Silicone neurons?

Where do you stop being human?

I don't think you ever do. You could put a human mind into an entirely artificial body, and that person would still be a person.

You could download a mind out of it's eminently crappy, poorly designed squishy meatsack and into a seriously useful, functionally immortal artificial form.

I'm a dirty bastard and a moral vacuum, but my mind is something unique. So my objective is to slowly but surely, convert myself into a six armed biomechanical man-spider. Those parts I can't recreate in titanium, ceramic and silicon, I will bioengineer better versions out of stem cells - I will, for all intents and purposes, be the pinnacle of intelligent design. This of course will make me effectively the god of transhumanism, and therefore the son as well. All I need now is to nail some way of quantiying the postbiological electric field you humans call a 'soul' and I can amalgamate the holy ghost into my cold iron skeleton.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

A pageant of ego, livid on the dead man's face

Descartes had it wrong. Not "I think, therefore, I am." But rather; "I think, therefore, I am."

I - The ego - Arises from thought. But thoughts themselves are mere strings of conciousness, abberant strands of synaptic impulses that somehow manage to coagulate into conclusions; into behavior. As Skinner said - Compared with the fascinating dramas played out in the depths of the mind, behaviour seems superficial! A single physical act requires dozens of independent thoughts, inextricably link but all very, very distinct.

Now, for an act such as murder - To willingly and deliberately take a sentient life - Imagine thr thought process that goes into that? Now, At this point, I must make clear the difference between the murder of a man in a pub brawl, and the careful strangulation of his wife while she showers. The former is an animal act - Brutish, with no regard for tact or circumstance. It is reflex, and it is base, therefore it is excluded from this argument.

No, the careful murder, of deliberate and particular effort - That is the most difficult of acts, mentally, emotionally and physically - And clearly, by extrapolation of Descartes, Jung, Skinner et al - It describes the most cunning man of all, the free killer, the one who despite his crimes walks untouched through society. Whether through manipulation of political sway or though pure forensic caution - The unimprisoned murderer, truly, is the cleverest by far.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Hey, wait. I'm a person.

The world is like a ride at an amusement park.

And when you choose to go on it, you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun, for a while.

Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they begin to question: Is this real?

Or is this just a ride?

And other people have remembered, and they come back to us. They say, "Hey, don't worry, don't be afraid ever, because – this is just a ride." And we... We kill those people.

"Shut him up!" We cry. "We have a lot invested in this ride! Shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry! Look at my big bank account and my family. This just has to be real!"

It's just a ride. But we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok.

Jesus, murdered;
Martin Luther King, murdered;
Malcolm X, murdered;
Gandhi, murdered;
John Lennon, murdered;
Reagan … wounded.

But it doesn't matter, because – it's just a ride. And we can change it any time we want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money. A choice, right now, between fear and love.

The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one. Here's what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride.

Take all that money we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace.

Special thanks to Bill Hicks.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

I have the body of a seventeen year old

I keep it in my freezer.

Shows like CSI serve to convince the jury that every contact leaves a trace, and that you need DNA for a solid conviction. This is a handy thing; if you clean up after dinner, chances are you won't leave enough for them to turn a unilateral response. All you need is one juror unconvinced and you're home free.

Of course, that assumed you were foolish enough to let it get to trial in the first place. Depending on how you like to work, clean or messy, fast or slow, you should never leave them in situ. Work to secondary crime scenes - This unfortunately increases the likelihood of capture and means you have more work to clean up, but it allows to to work at your leisure. nobody likes eating in a rush.

get her on the table, get out the bolt cutters and get those nipples in the frying pan.

"When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals."

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Take lunch, you can afford the time off.

Dogs and such, they don't really know their age. They don't have to go to work, or learn to drive a car. They just keep on barking until they eyes get grey and misty, their legs grow weak and the bark ain't got no bite. So now we have the new bastard - A young, fresh top dog settling in at Kirribilli house, the old one finally pushed out.

Throw me some kero and that little pampered puppy's pen is gonna get doused.

Rich, miserable louts. You made my home a target for terrorists. We create the wealth - and then we see you not sharing it. Soon enough, you'll be staring down the barrel of some pissed off youths - If you hypocrites were on fire they wouldn't piss on you.

They saw you and your cronies all rorting the system, so they rort the dole and asked what's the fuckin difference? It's only a couple of million (not counting the super), anything below that and they don't want to hear about it.

Once you get above fifty gees, they start listening, and ususally send a government-funded accountant in to examine your books, like the ones who made a molehill out of Packer's mountains. So for six years counting, I haven't paid a cent. HECS debt alone meant I couldn't pay the rent half the time.

A buddy of mine - He rode the elevator to the seventh floor. Sweaty palms, collar tight as he walked into the board room. He was trying to look convincing in his ill-fitting suit (it was the one his father had worn, so it was starting to look a little shabby). He took his place before the panel for the job interview. The question game begins - "Now how could you contribute?" he can't tell them the truth - That he's only here for the loot - So he plays nontheless, tells them what they want to hear, 'bout how the advertised appointment was his dream job.

This office monkey, he got the job. Grey partition, grey desk, grey suit, grey hair, grey position.
Then came the great hustle - he had the promos in the post. Stayed back after hours photocopying the flyers for gigs. Long distance phone calls, international faxes All organising, networking, and keeping the underground going. But soon enough, his actions caught his manager's eye. Written warning, last chance. He was put on probation.

"Fine. Fire me." He said. "But think about whose piece you're taking, when you lay back and take the pay packet."

Look me in the eye and say you never saw it coming. We stand tall but my minimum wage keeps cutting - You wedge me in and expect me to watch you keep cutting, closer and closer to the poverty line.

You can consider this a tribute to the shit that you pay - You can have your caviar, man, I'll keep my crumbs. So bang your hand drum, take production offshore. You never know when the local populace will get fed up.

You're wanting me to be loyal to this?
This bullshit name paying me this short change?

keep dreaming, fat cat. The longer your eyes are shut the closer we get before the truth hits you.

A dog's day dawns.

He not busy being born, is busy dying.

I turn on the news, I see waterfalls of pity roaring down stepped stones of whining faggot hippies. Don't like the way the world is? Do something about it.

And no, I don't mean stand around the church of scientology with pickets. Real anonymous, fags. bet they'll never figure out who did that one.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark in my ears as the cynical elitists complain about how the world is ultimately futile and what you do has no real bearing on the future, because the pharmaceutical giant will hire a dozen lawyers and counter-sue your crotch off, or the politician will bribe the media into silence.

Advertising signs con you into thinking you're the one. Here's the clue - Life is still going on, and everybody else is reading those same signs.

Alone you stand, with nobody near. Within touching distance a billion others do the same. Alone in the crowd. It is not he or she or them or it that you belong to - It is the Istigkeit.

The masters make the rules for both the wise man and fool alike, crushing hope and giving children nothing to look up to but news reports punctuated by automatic gunfire.

Those who despise their jobs peak jealously of those without such hamperings, whilst the free and transient long for direction. Outsiders are free to criticise, insiders grumble into their wallets as they dig for mastercards.

The solution is unity. One global, raised fist, banded against the largest foe we spy upon the horizon - Whomever they may be, from church to politician to children's television program.

This is not to say we want an uprising. Rather, this is to say we want a mildly-slanted rising. A quiet riot. Money doesn't talk, it swears, so whisper to each other under the cacophany. Plot and plan. One man leaves the lights on when he leaves the office so his comrades can later enter and have an easier job procuring the documents required to prove the guilt of his company. The man can claim it as an honest mistake - Because really, who would consider a desk lamp a security risk?

if my thought dreams could be seen, then I'd be on the next C130 to gitmo. So read them and remember them. Ponder them and think about them.

Raise the fist, but raise it in the dark. Never let your foes see the whites of your eyes.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Two shots, five bodies, no justice.

A good friend of mine was a homicide detective in Florida for a long time. He told me a story, one time when I was staying over there for a few months on business.

It was a case he'd just picked up. Family vacation from ohio, missing for a few days. Mum, dad, two daughters (fifteen and seventeen) The manager of the small hotel they were staying at said they had gone out for the day and not come back. That was it for a week, until dad's body washed up in the swamps and was found by a couple of froggers one evening. GSW to the face - Looked like rifle, probably a .308, based on the entry and exit wounds, and the couple of fragments left in the skull. Two to the brain, maybe from two feet away according to the scene techs and the ME. The case was turfed over to my brother. The body didn't show much - It's time in the marshes had ruined any time of death calcs, lividity and rigor was fucked, liver temps completely out of the question. Prints, likewise. Wrists and ankles showed signs of ligatures or restraints, and there was extensive bruising. Guy'd been tied and beat up real good. No prints, no fibres, no trace. Real clean, cleanest he'd seen for a while.

That was it until the video came. It was dropped off at the station, addressed to him. Nobody saw who brought it in. He played it in his office, first. Puked in the wastepaper basket. Called his partner and his lieutenant into the room and rewound to the start.

It was bad, to say the least. It filled in a lot of the blanks, and gave them somewhere to start - Found out where they were last seen and found out details from a few witnesses.

The family had been out eating lunch at a small restaurant when they saw a man driving one of those airboats on the open areas. He'd left it by the shore, and one of the girls asked their dad if they could try and find one. The owner had been having a BLT nearby and overheard. He was a friendly guy, no more then maybe twenty. White but tanned, according to the waitresses. Tipped well, wore faded jeans and a black t-shirt. Short blonde hair and steel-toed boots. The father was hesitant at first, but after a short conversation he didn't see the harm, and paid the man fifty dollars for a real florida airboat ride.

They were deep in the swamps when he made his move. Nobody knows how he got them where he got them, but nobody saw them after they left the diner. My colleague theorised that maybe he faked engine trouble, or stopped to refuel the boat at the small shack depicted from the inside on the video. it doesn't really matter, what does matter is that the video opens with the family bound with baling wire while the cameraman stands over them, wearing a black balaclava and holding a sawn-off rifle. He gave the father a good hiding with the stock and his boots, then shoved him into another room. The mother was too old for her tastes, she was beaten unconcious and locked in an ice chest.

The girls, though. They were repeatedly raped and mutilated. Forced to eat each other out, suck each other's tits and make out. One would have her throat fucked while the other rimmed her at gunpoint. From the timestamp on the video (which stopped and started now and then), this went on for about a week. End of the week, he took the girls back out onto the airboat and drove out to a deep spot - He'd been there before, we assumed, becuase it was well known to be the deepest spot around. Local's called it the Devil's Keep, must have been a meterorite crater or something from way back. The girls were bound again by this point. Mom and dad were long gone. He tied a cinderblock to each of their ankles and pushed them in. It was light enough so they didn't sink instantly, but heavy enough that they couldn't stay afloat for more then about fifteen minutes. He sat there, masturbating and drinking beer as he watched them drown. Then the video ends.

They never caught him. They sent divers down into the Keep for the bodies, found all four, but never recovered any usable evidence. My mate retired shortly after that. He couldn't handle that guy still being out there. And the look in the girl's eyes never left his mind. it was probably the last thing he thought about when he shot himself, six months later. It was a rage that burned deep within him, charred his soul from the inside out like a mine fire.

personally, I was just pissed that my beer got warm when I was driving the daughters back out to the keep.

Friday, September 5, 2008

If you stand in my way, you shall be slain.

I say this not through some ridiculous sense of braggadocio, or to prove how far-out I am in your 'alternative' world of faux-blood stained stockings and designer-ripped tshirts.

I say this because it is the only choice.

Life, no life.

Breath, no breath.

There are no stock options. No afterlife. No higher power.

There is only this blood, and this minute.

The path to oblivion is thick with men, walking in the shadow of falling leaves. To dawdle by stepping around them is foolish, and a waste. Cut them down like new rice.

The age of the retainer has long since rotted from the bone. This is the Wandering Age.

Bring your steel.

A not-so-modest proposal.

What are the biggest problems facing the world today? Overpopulation, food shortage, and the oil crisis.

Secondary to that, a couple of will-be-problems-soon are unemployment and obesity.

Who's overpopulated? Asia, for the most part. Nothing against them in particular, they're just the biggest source.

So now what? I'll tell you what. We send a few dozen C-17 Globemasters a day to ship asians into africa as feedstock. Simultaneously, anybody over a certain BMI, anywhere in the world (but especially in the west) is butchered for their body fat. This is fed through a catalytic cracker and broken down into biodiesel. Leftover meat is either shipped to africa or lysed by enzymes and used to feed algae banks turning CO2 into breathable oxygen.

All retirement homes are gassed with VX. Being of little nutritional value, the dead elderly will be used as algal feed. Homeless people will then be moved into the decontaminated retirement homes, with preference given to veterans.

So now we've removed overpopulation by converting excess into food for the starving, helped to counteract global warming, produced a new and viable source of green hydrocarbons and cleaned the homeless off the street. This also cuts a shitload of medical funding out, as complex dialysis machines and breathing apparatus are no longer needed my Grandma Daisie. because she's now a protein-rich paste feeding the earth, just like if she'd been buried, but far more efficient.

Ten things I have learnt this week.

1. Insects do not enjoy tobacco smoke as much as I do

2. I should not attempt to clear a hornet's nest from my roof with plastic explosives

3. The fire chief's name is not 'Big Red'

4. He also knows where I live, and am not to be caught within 100 feet of a gas barbecue with liquid oxygen ever again

5. A box full of spiders is not an acceptable birthday present for my mother

6. Attempting to live off tequila and mi goreng for a week will results in me no longer knowing who I am or where I live

7. The above is not an acceptable excuse for informing my arresting officer that I am 'The Man With No Name'

8. K-Mart does not carry depleted uranium

9. Call-in radio competitions are not a soapbox

10. A petrol station is the wrong place to set off fireworks

If you meet Buddha on the road, kill him.

The priest Tannen used to say, ''People come to no understanding because priests teach only the doctrine of 'No Mind.' What is called 'No Mind' is a mind that is pure and lacks complication .' This is interesting." Lord Sanenori said, "In the midst of a single breath, where perversity cannot be held , is the Way. '' If so, then the Way is one. But there is no one who can understand this clarity at first. Purity is something that cannot be attained except by piling effort upon effort.

Likewise, when Lord Mitsushige was a little boy and was supposed to recite from a copybook for the priest Kaion, he called the other children and acolytes and said, "Please come here and listen. It's difficult to read if there are hardly any people listening." The priest was impressed and said to the acolytes, "That's the spirit in which to do everything."

It's a beautiful world.

Faced with everything from concrete and radio antennae to charred flesh still dotted with the white phosphorous pellets thrown from above, it's hard not to laugh.

Laughing at the governments desperately scrabbling for control over nations so far gone over the edge it's a wonder they can even breathe through the sickly layer of meth, vomit and ammunition choking the cities.

Laughing at the kids going to school bright-faced and happy, when the statistics show that if we continue at this rate, one of their class, if they're very lucky, will live a life with a happy family and a steady job. The rest will die of a drug overdose, live on the streets, or in federally-funded housing projects with a dozen other chunks of human detritus crammed into the same, tiny broom-cupboard apartments.

Laughing because this is the first decade where people have openly stated that it's all downhill from here - That the next ten years will be worst then the previous ten.

Laughing at the cigarette that just fell from your fingers, because you know there's another 20 in your pocket and a store on every corner carrying hundreds more.

Laughing at the 17 year old student in beijing who doused his schoolmate in gasoline and burnt him to dust because of a World of Warcarft dispute.

Laughing, because it's the only goddamn thing you can do to keep from crying.

Fuck it. laugh at yourself, America, because you're a nation of fat fucks on a sinking ship, and I'm sitting back on my nearby, economically stable but smaller ship, and watching all the rats fleeing the burning craft for the momentary safety of the waters in-between the systems. The cracks that pennies fall into.

And I'm gonna sit here, smoke a cigarette, and then take a lighter to the fuel spilt across the surface of the water, and watch all you fucking rats burn to scraggly hanks of bone and scorched hair, plague-ridden blood boiling and bursting from your arteries until I can run my fingers through it and use it to wash my hands in.

Fifteen hundred kilos of ammonium nitrate and nitromethane, intimately mixed in a fuel tanker says 'Don't fuck with me, jackasses'.

But it's a pity it's had to come to that point in time, where actions speak volumes, and words speak lies.

So grab a pack of smokes, grab a rifle and grab your balls because you never know when it's all gonna come tumbling the FUCK down.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Supermarket chemical weapons? Why not.

I recently saw these new air freshner devices that use a piezoelectric disc to vaporize a minute amount of aromatic oil to "freshen" the air for up to (according to the package) 60 DAYS! at the minimal setting.

The cost is less than 10 dollars and they run off of a AA battery.

Now, how to apply this...

Since the the oil container is replaceable, and contains over an ounce of fluid, how about substituting chloropicrin?

This isn't intended as a weapon per-se, more like a means of preventing someone from occupying an area that you wish to remain vacant, only without the hassle of explosives or nasty poisons that'll leave a body or attract attention with a swarm of flies. (eewww!)

I had in mind an abandoned house that you might occassionaly use as a lab, but don't want to risk homeless trash finding your stash.

Or perhaps an abandoned industrial site that you'll use for testing devices, but don't want occupied in the meantime?

These tiny devices would be placed around the site, indoors of course, and create an atmosphere that would be untenable for more than a few minutes at most, as the vapor concentration would gradually build up over time if totally enclosed.

When you're ready for using the place for yourself, you won't have to bother with tedious decontamination, as you'd simply go in (with gas-mask or large, clear, plastic bag over your head), disconnect the batteries, and let the place air out for an hour.

Given the minute amount that's been dispersed in a highly volatile vapor form, there'd be nothing to really soak into the wood/concrete that'd make it a persistant irritant.

And given that it was bought from a supermarket in the first place, I've decided to use Chloramine, as I can produce it extremely simply.

As a CW agent it is a powerful irritant from the group of pulmonary agents. It causes lachrymation, vomiting, oedema and bronchitis; the injury can be fatal. Very low concentrations cause burning sensation of the eyes, which may serve as a warning. Because of its relative inertness and the small size of its molecule, chloropicrin penetrates gas mask filters and activated. It then causes vomiting, which makes the victim remove the gas mask. For this reason, it is often mixed with other agents to form a binary yummy device, so you pull off your mask to hurl or choke and get a lungful of Soman. Fun for the whole family.

Chloramine (NH2Cl) is an easy bastard to produce, people do it accidentally all the time.

2NH4OH + Ca(ClO)2 --> 2NH2Cl + 2H2O + Ca(OH)2

And for those of you out of the chemistry loop, that's

Ammonia cleaner + Bleach ---> Nasty corrosive solution + Chloramine gas

Hell, even accidentally mixing bleach with stale urine (like when cleaning a bathroom) will release the stuff.

So a stoichiometric ratio of the two, if we assume 25% ammonia, would mean that we need

.77 ml 25% AmH
3.34 grams CaHypCl

To produce about five litres of gas. Easily enough to kill an entire rom full of people, if they have the doors and windows closed (as we do at my school usually, wink wink).

One of these atomizers is about five bucks, and a bottle and bag of ammonia and bleach will set me back about seven, tops.

More cheap thrills and kills.

Pot Plants for Poison

Pot plants for poison.

A plant dubbed the suicide tree kills many more people in Indian communities than was previously thought. The warning comes from forensic toxicologists in India and France who have conducted a review of deaths caused by plant-derived poisons.

Cerbera odollam, which grows across India and south-east Asia, is used by more people to commit suicide than any other plant, the toxicologists say. But they also warn that doctors, pathologists and coroners are failing to detect how often it is used to murder people.

A team led by Yvan Gaillard of the Laboratory of Analytical Toxicology in La Voulte-sur-Rhône, France, documented more than 500 cases of fatal Cerbera poisoning between 1989 and 1999 in the south-west Indian state of Kerala alone. Half of Kerala's plant poisoning deaths, and 1 in 10 of all fatal poisonings, are put down to Cerbera.

But the true number of deaths due to Cerbera poisoning in Kerala could be twice that, the team estimates, as poisonings are difficult to identify by conventional means. Using high-performance liquid chromatography coupled with mass spectrometry to examine autopsy tissues for traces of the plant, the team uncovered a number of homicides that would otherwise have gone unnoticed (Journal of Ethnopharmacology, vol 95, p 123). This also suggests that some cases put down to suicide may actually have been murders, they say.

Although the kernels of the tree have a bitter taste, this can be disguised if they are crushed and mixed with spicy food. They contain a potent heart toxin called cerberin, similar in structure to digoxin, found in the foxglove. Digoxin kills by blocking calcium ion channels in heart muscles, which disrupts the heartbeat. But while foxglove poisoning is well known to western toxicologists, Gaillard says pathologists would not be able to identify Cerbera poisoning unless there is evidence the victim had eaten the plant. "It is the perfect murder," he says.

Three-quarters of Cerbera victims are women. The team says that this may mean the plant is being used to kill young wives who do not meet the exacting standards of some Indian families. It is also likely that many cases of homicide using the plant go unnoticed in countries where it does not grow naturally. A popular text writes:

"To commit suicide, people remove the green fibrous husk
of the seed, take the white fleshy kernel out and mash it with
jaggery (guhr) and consume it as a sweet. For homicide, a few
kernels are mixed with food containing plenty of chillies to
cover the bitter taste of the poison. Death is likely to occur
36 h after ingestion."

That's fine for india, but here, not that many people eat on a regular basis super spicy foods that can hide the taste.

Hrmmm. I wonder, what sort of substance tastes bitter, is served hot with increased solubility, full of oil solute and opens the blood vessels causing the poison to take effect up to six times faster?

Watch your coffee, motherfuckers.

I would assume, as well, that ordering this plant would raise some eyebrows, however, researching this very plant and it's toxic properties seems that it can be easily ordered over the internet.

***Found in:

"It can be grown in a small pot to show on office desk or everywhere you want for decoration."

Item Size Availability
2470 Cerbera odollam - nut
Chiute, Sea Mango. You can grow this plant from seed as a "Lucky Bean" in a pot or plant it on top of a ground, it will sprout and you will have a nice bushy tree in no time. White fragrant flowers, similar to Plumeria. See picture of the seed and picture of bonsai-1, picture of bonsai-2.
2-3" nut (seed)

2339 Cerbera odollam - plant
Chiute, Sea Mango. Endemic to the Mariana Islands. This is a small to medium-sized tree with dark foliage and showy, white fragrant flowers, similar to Plumeria, but the leaves are smaller.
These are sprouted seeds - picture of plant for sale-1, picture of plant for sale-2.1 gal pot
Price ($) 29.95

The fact this site describes it as an easy to grow plant (Lucky Bean) and aesthetically appealing plant for decoration for use in an office etc, it seems as if this plant can go overlooked. The "Lucky Bean" reference is, for me, the most interesting. They're almost marketing this plant as fun to grow. Kind of makes me remember a class project in primary school where we would grow a bean sprout. Makes me wonder if this is part of a primary school child's curriculum in India, using this particular plant.

Life is hard. Death, on the other hand, is incredibly easy.

Dimethylmercury, a clear liquid, is toxic ("LD50 FOR METHYLMERCURY (MEHG) INJECTED INTO YOLK SAC OF CHICK EMBRYOS ON DAY 5 OF INCUBATION WAS 40-50 UG."), persistent but volatile, water soluble and will instantly pass through fat, oils, rubber, kevlar, cotton or nylon and latex. Meaning that anything you wear cannot protect you short of cocooning yourself in epoxy resin.

As a concerned citizen, of course, I'm concerned that this poison could be used on me by someone I don't know and who the police would be unable to link to me, and who would be several months gone by the time I died. Assuming they covered their tracks, It would be astonishingly difficult to track them down, as the only route available to detectives would be to find out who could perform a synthesis, or who had access to the precursors. And I'm sure they'd have been competent enough to have covered their tracks.

A poison like this is valuable because it seems to take so much time to get the job done. Sure it may be detectable, but will the cops be able to determine when the exposure happened 3 months down the road? Not likely. The poisoning would long since have faded from the minds of victum and witnesses alike. Food products could be randomly poisoned and they would long since have been eaten, thrown away, and forgotton months later leaving nothing for the investigaters to go on.

Imagine if you will a person with a water bottle filled with dimethylmercury don at Subi Oval. He has an aisle seat high up, one of the cheap seats. He opens his water bottle and tips it over. The liquid gushes out and starts the slow climb down the steps. 1 liter, maybe 2, flowing like a tiny stream down step after step. There it sits and vaporizes. Hundreds climb these stairs over the course of the next few hours. The fumes linger, invisable, odorless, harmless... until months later when people start turning up dead without any connection.

A student on the last day of classes spills his "Mountain Dew" right in the entrance to the canteen line minutes before lunchtime. The spill is ignored as the sudents pour in to reach their seats and wait in line to get their food. Hundreds walk through the spill getting it on their shoes and spreading it all over the lunchroom. Withing 30 minutes the entire area is filled with denser-then-air fumes, hundreds have been exposed to toxic levels of dimethylmercury. By the end of the day the chemical has been spread into every classroom, onto every student; thousands could be exposed, but none will know. The summer draws to a close, many students are away at college, then they start to die.

The repairman, clad in boilersuit with toolbox, flashes his ID and is let into the service elevator for a major skyscraper. He places a shallow, flat dish in the airconditioning inlet and the tasteless, colourless volatile vapour is drawn into every room in the building. Two weeks later, two thousand office workers in Perth die, bringing the economy to a standstill.

A suicide trooper strolls into the front entrance of Charles Gardiner hospital or a police station, 'drunk' and raving. He trips, spilling his bottle of goon, he runs off when medicos try to help him onto a stretcher. Dimethylmercury is also soluble in alcohol, by the way. He repeats this at every precinct in the city. This goes on for weeks, the suicide trooper goes everywhere cops are. Thousands of the infirm are poisoned, and he himself is overcome with the poison. He crawls off to die and is forgotton. Months later thousands of police officers are striken down. Chaos reins as drug lords and petty crooks rise up to take advantage of the lack of police. Murders, rapes, robberies, arsons... The national guard is called out, the city is shut down, the government is placed on high alert. Every police force in the country is stricken with fear, are they next?

Multiply this by 10 or even 100. Suicide troops visiting every ballgame, every football game, every basketball game. Suicide troops visiting the common rooms of major universities, UWA, Curtin, Murdoch, Notre Dame. Suicide troops visiting every major police station or office block. They could even visit the lunchrooms of NASA, Boeing, Los Alamos, Ford, GM, Microsoft, Intel, and all of the fortune 500 boardrooms and offices.

Maybe they won't kill that many, but the sheer amount of terror inflicted on this country would paralyze the nation. Our sporting events attacked means no more sports, or large gatherings, attacks at universities would mean our nations greatest minds are in jeporady, an attack on our nations greatest corporations would send stocks plummeting and our economy into such a death spiral that it may take 10 years to emerge from.

Dimethylmercury is remarkably simple to procure, a simple displacement reaction being all that is needed, for example:

2CH3Li + HgI2 ===> (CH3)2Hg + 2LiI

Methyl lithium and mercuric iodide both being unrestricted precursors, and relatively simple to improvise at home.


Young salmon is hooked
Silent grass tiger is shot
Man wears fur and dines.


Gravel and dry mud.
Paperbark, wattle and gum.
A certain silence.


Straw rice chaff at noon.
Autumn reds by twilight shade
Cherry blossom night.


Your father is here
He watches us together
I am glad he cares


Newspaper blankets
Horizon thick with concrete
Where has the grass gone?

Flying Birds

Dreams are truthful manifestations. When I occasionally have dreams of dying in battle or committing seppuku, if I brace myself with courage, my frame of mind within the dream gradually changes.

This concerns the dream I had on the night of the twenty-seventh day of the fifth month.

Glancing at the sky, it becomes apparent that for all our aspirations - dreams - technology, expenditure and effort, certain things are simply unattainable.

The affairs of men are best concerned by men. Likewise, the affairs of birds are best concerned with birds.

Do not confuse the two, lest you lose the Way.

Among the maxims on Lord Naoshige's wall there was this one: 'Matters of great concern should be treated lightly."

Master Ittei commented; "Matters of small concern should be treated seriously." Among one's affairs there should not be more then two or three matters of what one could call great concern. If these are deliberated upon during ordinary times, they can be understood.

Thinking about things previously and then handling them lightly when the time comes is what this is all about - Familiarity with a problem, whether it be foe, exam, or trial of character will invariably result in victory. To face an event and solve it lightly is difficult, nay, impossible if you are not resolved of mind and body aforehand, and there will always be uncertainty when hitting your mark.

However, if the foundation is laid previously, then the Way will become apparent.

Use this maxim as the basis for your actions.

Swallows on the wing
Lost to the sword of Ganryu
Welcome the sunrise

Red Leaves

A certain son of Mori Monbei got into a fight and returned home wounded. Asked by his father Monbei, "What did you do to your opponent?" his son replied "I cut him down." When Monbei asked "Did you finish him?" His son replied "Indeed I did."

Then, Monbei said "You have certainly done well, and there is nothing to regret. Now, even if you fled you would have to commit seppuku anyway. When your mood improves, prepare your robes and commit seppuku, and rather die by your father's hand then by another's ."

And soon after, he performed kaishaku for his son.

Some would consider it a terrible thing for a father to do, but really, it is terrible for anyone - A failure means a painful, humiliating, dishonourable death for the samurai, and shame for the kaishaku which inevitably results in he himself committing seppuku. There are two thing one must know - Killing and Dying.

This is the way of Red Leaves.

The Great Fear

Mortality, death, only the mad or lying do not fear it, every day is another step, slow succumbing to the ultimate STD.

We buy bagels, we buy starbucks, we use our Blueberry cell phones, we pick stocks, we sniff coke, we do NOT, we have NEVER realised mankind's true calling, our true vocation as DEALERS OF DEATH.

No other known beast treats other beasts so cruelly, no other animal keeps another in cages. We need to wake form this fear of death, and drink it deep.

We have seen these people before, the Awake, the Bloodhungry. They were in Ireland, a nemesis from the Queen herself who would kill and maim, shoot and attack to make these, these ANIMALS rise up and finally awaken to their human side; "Death is our business, and business is good".

One more, knows how to kill.

Not serial killers. not sexual sadists, pedophiles who inject battery acid into little girl's spines, not psychopaths who go to the army wanting to hurt.


They awaken.

They take these, these rejects of human nature and they strap them down. The offcuts of DNA, the useless bits, they rot in prison, sometimes, they awaken themselves with a noose, but more often, they just [/i]fester[i].

but then - then, THEN is the time when we cut them loose.

The Triforce, a trifecta, the holy triumvirate of chemical glory.

How much do you weigh, sir? 100kg?

Five hundred milligrams of the Father, of sodium thiopental, railed in saline takes seconds to reach the brain, and then the Son. Ten milligrams of pancuronium bromideto sit on your nerves and nibble, spitting out the sweat and your oh-so-precious acetylcholine has NOWEHER to go, but d-o-w-n into the kidneys, where it will be found in massive concentrations at your autopsy, because NOW you can't MOVE and there's NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT! The holy ghost is ironic, because you buy it at health food stores. Potassium chloride, or salt-free-salt, big bags of it. All you need, 100mEq in this driest of martinis, this spiciest of meat-a-balls.

but it gets better. the PC method is to strap down the animal, blindfold him and calm him down with a lungful of ketamine, then jam the motherfuckin' IV into his neck, into the left carotid.

There, it GRIPS you by the lobes and squeeeeeezes until your eyelids feel like molten solder and your ears want to BURST because they're full of fluid when you



A quiet death.

That won't do.

We want you AWAKE, not falling asleep again, even if only for a millisecond we want you to KNOW that THIS WAS YOUR LIFE! ARE YOU PROUD? CAN YOU STAND UP AND SAY, I AM THE BEST I EVER COULD BE?

I doubt it.

So we take our triforce, our perfect storm, in it's thick plastic IV bag, and place it in a bucket of ice, water and salt. To take the edge off, haha. Like a good akavit, death is best served cold. When it's down to about 5*C, they hook it up, and forget the ket.

Then it goes in the arm, giving you roughly thirty seconds as you feel that delicious, burning twitching ice creep up your veins. Oh, you can feel it, believe me, you can fuckin' feel it all right.

You feel it crawl up your chest, smack your heart and your chest locks up like a BSoD, one final thrash that drives it into your brain, and because it hit the heart first you're still AWAKE and LISTENING to the every word of your doctor-, your executioner, your parish priest praising the last rites but all you can think about is "Who put this fucking popsicle in my neck"

And then it ends.

When the war ends, I’ll be able to stand up and shout my name.

Because I fucking fought.

When they tried to stop me from buying a bottle of baby formula without signing my name, I fought.

When I couldn't get cough and cold pills without a driver's license, I fought.

When picking up a bag or orcho for my citrus trees meant signing a BATF disclosure form and giving them my thumb-print, I fought.

It doesn't matter that I was using them to make meth, military explosives or biological weapons. The fact that these legislation even exists shows ignorance from a bunch of fat-arsed beaurocrats trying to make an extra buck. What they don't realise is that by taking a different path and forgetting the old FEAR, they could make an extra FIVE bucks!

90% of ALL drug problems are caused by impure agent, lack of controlled environment, or clandestine activity.

Divert that confiscated load of No.2 Chinesw White from the incinerator to the lab, wash it with anhydrous methanol, slap a 2% sales tax on it and retail at the pharmacy for $5 a gram. Bam. Instant billion-dollar revenues, and the crime problem clears up overnight.

Remove the waste-of-time drug education programs from school and get a qualified pharmacologist doing a lecture circuit, not ten dollar an hour public school teacher sheeple parroting the same tired, pedantic bullshit the government provided without questioning.

Get an EFFECTIVE rehabiliation chemical like naloxone, or ibogaine. Methadone is just less fun, and more damaging.

Approve MORE chemical trials for popular street drugs like MDMA with possible legitimate psychological uses. What if the next drug you quash turns out to decoagulate alzhemic proteins? You'll never fucking know because you were too scared of the kids and their new-fangled pills.

Control the pills. Tax the pills. Make the pills, clean the pills. Get rid of all the PMA and d,l bullshit and start packing 100mg bumps of molly in time-release glycoprotein. Have a recognised government operative, or licensed seller in a transient drug-mobile that rolls around to the raves to make sure people can get cheap, legal and SAFE highs without resorting to GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE in that crumbly little speckled bikkie.

What about you? Were you one of the ones who just lay the fuck down and accepted EVERYTHING they told you? Or worse, did you take the bullshit and spread it on the new flowers, fertilising them with lies, and seeding them with deceit.

You're all up toy uor ears in it.

For reference, I use the term 'you' in a general sense, because the demographic of this poor excuse for a website is 90% overprivileged white kids bitching about how their favourite shitty band isn't playing at their town this tour and how mommy won't let me got to the prom.

The general satisfaction of a society is directly dependent on the needs of the individual versus the needs of the society. The problem is, most of you whining 'individuals' wouldn't know a necessity if it raped you in the eye socket. You need: Food, water, shelter. End of fucking story. iPods, mescaline, strip clubs - They're just frippery. Entertaining frippery, but frippery nontheless. Society, on the other hand, requires scapegoats, infrastructure, and a metric fuckton of cash.

Society can be defined as a pyramid - The widest portion, with the most people, is the lowest point - Working-class proles scraping just around the poverty line. At the top, with the tiniest proportion of people, we have the ruling class, the aristocracy. They're the bitches with all the aces. Problem is, whenever one of the top bastards takes a shit, it just rolls down the pyramid, until the proles are up to their eyeballs in a sea of the stuff. Eventually, one of the shitsucking bottomfeeders realises that if he throws handfuls of shit back at the top, he might be able to knock one of the bastards down the mountain, then stand on him in order to keep above the plimsoll line. Next thing you know, they're formed a "Shit Throwers Union" and have spent thirty million installing a malodorous puppet at the top of the pyramid, some corpse who somehow floated to the surface like some kind of morbid, faecal physalia physalis, his bribe-bloated belly used as a sail for the currents of methane to blow him up the pyramid, inch by fetid inch. This coprophilic travesty's name is RUDD.

Fifteen minutes after the final counts are in, the sewage soup is churning as every one of these VB-swilling taxtards masturbates furiously to the thought of a Labour government. Mob rules kick in. Your job's safe, but you know what? Your money ain't. Plus, the pyramid is fuelled by god-fuckingly retarded power plants, because nuclear fuel is apparently too risky. [i]Here[/i] is where the problems kick in. Ever cultured bacteria? I wouldn't think so, you're not as smart as me. What happens when you have a lot of the lowest-order life forms, and they go crazy with breeding because conditions are suddenly optimal? That's right. You run the fuck out of agar, very quickly. Infrastructure fails, especially with the sort of 'centralised funding' bullshit which means anyone can dig into the kitty for some petty cash to fund some road somewhere. Vanuatu, I think is popular this year.

Trust me on this - I kept sea monkeys once, and I forgot to feed them one night. I woke up at 3 AM, and they forced me against the wall and executed me with a Chinese-made AK-47.

So here's the message: Every once in a while, the social pyramid needs to be flushed out, otherwise the shit builds up and overflows.

Or maybe the message is that I shouldn't supplement my sea monkey's diet with PCP, human growth hormone and powdered plutonium.

Getting high from sawdust? ORLY?

Head down to your local native furniture place. Ask if they do their own wood milling, or if not, where they get it from. Whichever source, pose as a super-cheap waste removal company and offer to take away their sawdust en masse. Do your research so you're far cheaper then anyone else in Perth. That way, you can get, like twenty kilos of raw sawdust for about five bucks. Karri dust is what we're here for, because it's lignin can yeild raw syringaldehyde. So, get as much kiln-dried Karri sawdust as possible, and with anything else, burn it, bury it, or press it into peat and sell it to garden stores. Now, for those of you overseas, there are several species of eucaplyptus found in the U.S and Europe which also can be used, but Karri's my favourite so that's what I'm doing here.

With the karri lignin, we need oxidise the crap out of it. Preferred method here is with nitrobenzene and alkali. Simple step, bake that shit in the oven until it's thoroughly dry, oxidise and just clean up the mush and extract the resulting syringaldehyde, which is roughly 5% of the dry weight.

Methylate the free phenolic group on syring. with either dimethyl sulfide and KOH (for large scale synths) or diazomethane (for nano). if you didn't fuck up, this will give you 3,4,5-trimethoxybenzaldehyde. Keeping the rxn hot, say about 70*C can net you as good as 60% yield. Next phase is a Kindler/Peschke with bisulfite, giving us 3,4,5-TMB Cyanohydrin, which we reflux with acetic anhydride to give us the acetate salt.

This sounds complicated - And it is. If you're too dumb to know what I'm talking about, you're too dumb to do it. That being said, Any chem major could pull this particular reaction off, and I'm sure there must be at least one of you out there in the interwobs.

With this for our starter, we condense the substituted benzaldehyde with malonic acid and reduce the resulting cinnamic acid. Finally, a Hoffman degradation is performed on the trimethoxyphenylpropionamide, yielding 3,4,5-trimethoxyphenethylamine, aka, mescaline.

With optimum yields, you should be able to get about THIRTY GRAMS of pure mescaline from 10 kilos of sawdust. That's one garbage bag full, in exchange for a moetherfucking OUNCE of pure, perceptive peyote, which is 200 full-blown hallucinatory doses.

Mescaline is nifty stuff. it's like taking reality, and exaggerating it about a zillion times. Perfect for meditation, transcendations or just some serious soul-searching. It's a lovely drug to go to highschool on.

International Society of Mad Scientists - Member #598

If a warrior is not unattached to life and death, he will be of no use whatsoever. The saying that "All abilities come from one mind" sounds as though it has to do with sentient matters, but it is in fact a matter of being unattached to life and death. With such non-attachment one can accomplish any feat.

Every day without fail one should consider himself as dead.

Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one's body and mind are at peace, one should meditate upon being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords, being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand-foot cliffs, dying of disease or committing seppuku at the death of one's master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead.

As said by the Boddhisatva Guan-yin, or Kannon, to the monk Tripitaka: "All should be known"