perpetual memory loss

Me luv you long time.

The term red light district usual connotes a district or neighborhood where prostitution runs rampant.  The origin of the term is not completely agreed upon.  Some think that it is an old railroad term, while others claim other explainations.  Whatever the explanation it is pretty much certain that around the world the color red connotes prostitution, drugs, or both.  As I have traveled around the world, both on my own and in groups, I have had a lot of varied experiences.  Some have been recorded here, but most of them are known only to me and a few others.

If you know me in person or you have been reading about some of my random encounters on this site, then you probably know that I am a magnet for the weird and random.  I once had dinner with a drug dealer in the Czech Republic, been offered Heroin in Chicago, Hamburg, Scotland, and in Iraq.  I have also had discussions, and sometimes a few drinks, with prostitutes in Munich, Australia, Mexico, Singapore, and Hamburg.  These are just some of the experience I have had that have educated me about the seedier side of life, and have provided me with some great stories.  So what’s my point?  I’ll get to my point shortly, but I feel like I have a pretty good idea of what happens in the underground lifestyles of the world.  Dostoevsky spent tons of time hanging out with alcoholics, prostitutes, criminals, and addicts so that he could write about them with realistically.  You don’t have to partake in a lifestyle to know it, you just have to observe it learn the traits, and then when you see if you will know it.  My own varied experiences have led me to have many encounter with these shady characters, and because of that I trust my gut instincts.  I have, at times, had to navigate some precarious situations, in varied random foreign countries, without any help.  I have come through these situations mostly unscathed, and with plenty of experience and a total trust in my instincts.  Which brings me to my point.

When I was in Singapore the whorehouses were all in regular ass neighborhoods.  They looked just like any other house in the neighborhood except for one tiny detail.  At night when the front lights came on the house number instead of glowing white, glowed red.  Now I have lived in my neighborhood here for a year, and when I first moved in I noticed that one house in my neighborhood had red numbers out front.  It struck me as odd in this neighborhood, because of the high police presence and school security officials.  From day one I have had it in the back of my head that this house could be a whorehouse.  I have rarely if ever seen anyone ever coming in or out of the house (the few I have seen are women, and I believe Asian women, but it is usually dark), and the shades are always drawn closed.  The last few months, however, I have had more time on my hands, and I have been walking around the neighborhood a lot more late at night.  (Sometimes when I have been writing too long, and I am stuck and don’t know what to write next, I go outside for a walk to clear my head.)  I have been observing the house more and more and still the shades are drawn shut, and there is very little traffic coming in and out of the house.  I have also noticed lately that often there is a car that sits outside the house with the engine running, and last night I saw one Asian girl go up to the house and knock on the door.  She stood there for a bit and then from around the corner an NYPD van came rolling up–with three people inside of it–it stopped in front of the house, and they shined a spotlight on the girl.  She knocked frantically, and as soon as the door opened scurried inside.  The NYPD van rolled out, and the parked car in front of the house took off in the other direction.  So I’m thinking that the police are either finally wise to the house or have almost enough evidence to make some kind of bust.  I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.  If I am right then I think there will be some kind of drama going down in the neighborhood soon.  I’m going to keep taking my late night strolls to check out the hood, and I will keep you all posted if anything goes down.

I wish I could say that news like this surprises me, but I would be lying if I did, in fact, news like this, just ends up reinforcing many of my beliefs.  The Washington Times has done an investigative report called “Disposable Heroes.”  In this report they find evidence that the VA has been testing drugs on veterans without telling them of the potentially severe side-effects.  I guess the only surprising fact of this is not that they were testing this drug on veterans, but instead, it is the brazen audacity of the government.  They act as if there will be no recourse, and no consequences, and unfortunately, they are probably right.  For years now there has been an ongoing controversy about Anthrax shots.  It is still unknown if there are long term side-effects to these shots.  The effects of these shots may not be known for years to come (if there is any.)  However, the effects of this new round of testing are known:

the drug may cause serious side effects, including “anxiety, nervousness, tension, depression, thoughts of suicide, and attempted and completed suicide.”

The drug in question in Chantix, an anti-smoking drug.  You would think that if the potential side-effects include killing yourself, and potentially harming others, that they would exercise more caution.  They don’t, and they don’t care.  I’ve been told personally by people inside the VA that the VA has been taken over by pharmaceutical companies, and that priority number one is to medicate the veterans.  Anytime you go to the VA the first thing they try to do is put you on some sort of drug.  That way the veterans are medicated, and the pharmaceutical companies have a constant stream of test subjects, and a constant stream of government money.  This of course is heaped on top (or maybe in conjunction) with the VA covering-up the suicide attempts and completions of Iraq War veterans.

John McCain has been conspicuously quiet about this subject, and I have yet to hear him address it.  Maybe that is because McCain doesn’t really care.  He has shown time and time again that he is not on the side of veterans.  Obama, however, has addressed the issue:

I was very concerned to read this morning’s Washington Times and learn that the
Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) has yet again failed to take appropriate steps to
safeguard the health and well-being of veterans participating in drug trials.

According to a Washington Times/ABC News investigation, the VA took three
months to notify patients about severe side effects from the anti-smoking drug Chantix.
Almost 1,000 veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) were paid
$30 a month to participate in a study examining ways to end smoking. A total of 143 of
the study participants took the anti-smoking drug Chantix.

Last November, the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) issued an alert
regarding reports that Chantix led to hallucinations, suicide attempts, and psychotic
behavior. Even though almost 40 suicides and more than 400 examples of suicidal
behavior were eventually attributed to Chantix nationwide, the VA waited three months
after the FDA advisory to alert its study participants about the mental health risks of the
drug. And when the VA did finally notify study participants, it failed to mention the
most serious side effects of suicide and suicidal thoughts. According to the Washington
Times/ABC News investigation, 21 veterans have reported adverse effects from Chantix.
In addition to Chantix, the VA is testing other drugs on veterans with PTSD that carry
warnings of suicidal side effects.

Read the full Obama letter here. We will have to see what happens from here on out, but this seems to have become standard operating procedure for the VA of late–cover-ups and abuse.  The VA has their excuses about bureaucracy and rules, but of course, those don’t apply to the actual people’s lives they are ruining.  They only serve as an excuse for their immoral, and outrageous actions.  Words can’t describe the betrayal I have felt over the last few years, at this current administration and the VA, and those feelings of betrayal (by my own government and country) continue to mount, and I continue to grow more and more bitter.  With actions like these it is no wonder that veterans are paranoid, and mistrustful, and tend to ostracize and segregate themselves from society, because the institutions that are supposed to be there to help and protect us, instead mistreat and abuse us.  Again I implore you to read the article, and to spread the word, the fact that this isn’t on national news daily is a travesty.  Our society is more interested in the celebutards, than in actual important issues.  Of course if a soldier does something wrong in theater then it is all over the news, but when there are thousands that are mistreated it is a blip on the radar.

Via MSNBC:

AMSTERDAM, Netherlands – This city’s famed marijuana bars have weathered many challenges over the years and are still smoking. But now they face an unwelcome blast of fresh air: On July 1, the Netherlands will be one of the last European countries to ban smoking in bars and restaurants in compliance with EU law.

This is happening all over the world.  The baby boomers are clamping down on everything.  I’m ok with the whole no smoking in restaurants law, but if you’re going to go to a bar, there’s nothing wrong with having to deal with a little smoke.  These law pretend that they’re protecting the little kiddies, but let’s be serious, if you’re taking your kid to a sports bar, than you have issues as a parent.  Furthermore, I’m sick and tired of the boomers wanting to make up for their youthful indiscretions, by clamping down on my generation.  You know what, fuck off!  What really bugs me is that I never made it to Amsterdam in my travels around Europe, and now it looks like Amsterdam’s salad days are over.

Now what really irks me is that marijuana is illegal in the states.  This is something that needs to be rectified with a quickness.  Now I don’t have the stats on hand, but if you want more information of drugs in the U.S. check out these two books by Jefferson M. Fish here and here.  The fact remains, however, that weed is a much, much safer and useful drug, than both alcohol and cigarettes.

This afternoon as I sat in my room sweating profusely, and debating whether or not to turn on my AC unit, I instead decided to take a trip and enjoy the free AC on the subways. So I grabbed a book–Dante’s The Inferno–slung the satchel over my head and started stepping for the bus stop. As I was riding to the subway I decided on taking a long trip out to Coney Island. It would give me plenty of time to read, and then hopefully Coney Island would be mildly entertaining. Looking back it’s amazing how journeys end up breaking down. While my trip out to Coney Island was completely uneventful, once there everything changed, and weird things kept happening right until I got home.

I had decided to take the local train out to Coney Island so that by the time I got there I was able to get to the fifth ring of hell in The Inferno. The first stop once I got off the train was to get some lunch. I decided on grubbing up a carne asada burrito. While I was waiting for my burrito to be made I thought about how cool it would be if I could use the Jedi mind shit to make the cashier think that I had already paid her. After a few minutes of trying to influence her mind I quit. A few minutes later my burrito was done and she looked down at my order and wrote next to it “pagando.” I couldn’t believe it, she looked at me smiled, told me to enjoy, and then walked off. Well that’s where I pussied out. Although, this was what I was trying to accomplish for a few minutes, I am actually way to honest, to take something for free. So I called out to her and told her that I hadn’t paid yet. So I shelled out $8 for a burrito that, in the end, was only worth about $4. First off they used Parmesan cheese, used way too much rice, not enough black beans, and there was no guacamole or sour cream. Oh well, I still kind of wish I would have taken the burrito for free, but I’m banking on some good karma to come my way.

After the burrito I decided to take a stroll along the pier and check out the ocean. I don’t know what it is about piers and oceans, but they attract some weird fucking people. There must be some mystical pirate spirits that make people think they have to be all skeevy to go to the beach. I swear some of these people prepare for the beach by not showering for a week. This is true of almost every beach I have been to around the world so it’s some sort of world-wide phenomenon. I don’t get it and it just confirms my overall disdain for beaches in general.

There were two interesting dichotomies on the boardwalk though. There were two bands playing, one on the left side and one on the right side, of the boardwalk. First the band on the right side was a traditional African/Jamaican band. Their first song–and the only one I could stomach–was a tribute to Sean Bell. Now I’m not minimizing the tragedy of what happened, but just how the band chose to deal with it. First off it was poorly written, whoever wrote it needs to read some good poetry or rap, or take a class, the music was militaristic, and the message just flat out sucked. It basically tried to portray anyone of color as oppressed, any white person as the oppressor, and the whole NYPD as Bernard Goetz. Basically I loathe sweeping generalizations and stereotypes so there really wasn’t any redeeming factors about the song. Also let me just say I have friends and family that are cops and I know how hard and thankless the job can be. Despite my previous run in with the NYPD, I don’t hate cops. I don’t trust them, but I also know their job is shitty so I refrain from heaping condemnation on them, especially when the vast majority of them are good, honest people. Ok, I’ll get off my soapbox now.

The next band was much better. There were more of a fusion of R&B, Funk, and Reggae. Their sound was good and their writing was light years ahead of the previous band. While the message of their song had similar intonations–about people trying to keep you down–it’s direction was different. They had more of an Obama message: fight on, stay strong, and keep strong in your hope. I like them much better. Unfortunately, for me, the only song I heard was the last song of their set, so I continued on with my journey. As I walked next to the Cyclone I saw this dude who was so fucking drunk he collapsed right in front of a cop. I looked over and the dude was mumbling something on the ground as he lay flat on his back (the way he was splayed out on the ground looked like he was ready for a chalk outline). Finally, the cop helped him up and I laughed and shook my head.

As I was watching that scene unfold this black dude walked up to me carrying a bunch of his CD’s that he was trying to sell. I hoped against hope that he wouldn’t try to sell me one of his CD’s, because I just didn’t feel like dealing with that. Luckily, for me he told me a fantastic story. As I was shaking my head about the drunk, he sauntered over an said “Maaan I could never get that drunk man. Fuuuck that!” “Yeah I know what you mean,” I said “that’s just kind of embarrassing.” This is where he started his great story.

“You know man, where I come from you walk down the street like that,” and he tapped me on the shoulder to look at him do his impression of a drunk walk, “you become a vic man. A fucking vic. If we ever saw some mother fucker walking down the street drunk like that we would fuck them up and rob them, you know?” Just before he launched into the next portion of his story, I slyly swept my hand over my ass to make sure my wallet was still there. He then continued on, “You know, this one time we saw this cat fucking walking down our street. He was dressed to the nine’s. He had this fucking nice suit and tie on and a hat, a beaver hat.” I’m not sure what a beaver hat is, at first I thought of the Davey Crockett hat, but then I remembered that was a raccoon hat. Anyways he kept on talking.

“This motherfucker was so fucking drunk he just let us escort him down an alley where we sat him down and robbed him of everything. Haha, you know, that fucker just looked at us and said ‘you fucking robbed me’ and we just walked off you know.” I couldn’t believe that some random dude who I had know for all of a minute had just told me he had robbed someone blind once. Unbelievable what people will tell you if you give them the opportunity. Then he turned his story into an after school special. “You know man, that is the reason why I don’t drink or do drugs or anything. I saw the way we made victims of those people and I said no way not for me.” I was pretty stunned at this point and told him “well I guess it’s a good thing then in a weird way.” I’m not even sure what that means. I just felt compelled to say something. I mean he told me the reason he doesn’t drink or do drugs is because he used? to rob people that got drunk or did drugs. What do you say to that?

Shortly thereafter he took his leave of me–to go and try to sell some more CD’s–and I took my leave of Coney Island. Dante was much more compelling and interesting, because unlike Coney Island, I didn’t have to smell anything. I hurried up and got back on the N train and dove back into The Inferno. The train was largely uneventful until I got back to Queens. It was there that I transferred to the E and the weirdness began. There was some weird ass white family–I’ll put money down that they were Mormons–who had basically kidnapped the whole train. As soon as I walked into the car I knew I had made a mistake, but I figured it would give me something to write about.

So I sat down and just watched. The dad looked like he wanted to kill himself. He looked so fucking miserable, I almost felt sympathy for him. He had about 8 kids with him. His daughter–who looked about 9–was working the subway pole like a stripper. No shit she was swinging around the pole gesticulating up and down around and around for the whole twenty minutes I was on the train. I wanted to fucking tell the dad “hey if you let her feel comfortable on that greasy pole she’s gonna be riding one permanently in about ten years,” but I decided to keep my mouth shut. He had three other kids that were just raising hell yelling, jumping, and just being little bastards. Everyone on the train was visibly annoyed, but for some reason we all put up with it quietly, and patiently. He had two little boys who were sitting on another bench simultaneously picking their noses and wiping it on their legs, or the bench, or the poles. Disgusting. Every time the dad caught them he yelled, they would stop, he would down in deep depression, and then they would start up again. A vicious cycle indeed. The other strange thing is they had two other boys who, although everyone else was really white, both looked Latino. I know they were all together because of the way they were all interacting together. You can tell when people are comfortable with each other like family. The fact that they were much darker just fucking tweaked out my mind.

Finally, I was able to get off of the train and head to the bus stop. By this time it had started to drizzle again–who is the drizzle?–it had been drizzling intermittently throughout the day, but had not been bad at all. That is until I got off the bus and started my quarter mile walk to my house. Then the skies opened in epically biblical fashion. It rained and thundered like crazy, and I looked over my shoulder half expecting to see an ark come rolling down the street. By the time I got home I was soaked to the bone. I haven’t been in rain like that since the last typhoon I was in–seriously–and it figured it started the only time I was going to be exposed for more that a couple of seconds. Just my luck. Now I feel like I need a drink to cleanse my mind from the riffraff I’ve been exposed to all day.