Silk Road forums
Discussion => Philosophy, Economics and Justice => Topic started by: PerPETualMOtion on June 22, 2013, 03:30 am
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It was in the news that I first heard about Bitcoin and the Silk Road. This is my account of the world I discovered, word for word, through the twisted cavern of memory and vivid flashbacks. You probably already know the day to day thrill of our own personal digital interface, from avatars to severed-limbed retards who have committed their journey to too much of a good thing, so I leave you with my twisted madness that began on a sunny morning lying in bed, sober and anxious to try elixers and tonics, powders and smokeables, even edible fungus that pulled my spinal cord through couch cushions and dangled them over shark tanks and into other dimensions. Luckily, with the powder under the couch helped bring my body back in one euphoric piece.
It all started with that pesky news article. I thought I kept up with drug culture pretty well, but looking back at it, hippies are really terrible at keeping up with technology, with the man. Those that do monitor such things often only share their experiences with each other in a digital forum, which they call their virtual life. A virtual life? Hmmm. That sounds too risky to the already precarious mind that creates this galactic dribble that we see and touch and taste, in which all things exist. We come from the same things of which dead stars are made. Star dust. So why not get involved with organic dust, or inorganic tonics for that matter? Anyway, the hippies let me down, man. I moved onto my Republic counterpart, the Internet, where Big Brother was allegedly conquered, and narco-libertarians own the scene, business for business, with the usual standards in mind: don't hurt people.
Thank you, America. 1776 will always be the same; slavery and greed; independence and atheism. The separation of church and state isn't going so well, and slavery still exists, albeit no less crude of an institution; the fight has at least moved onto the streets. Life goes on, inexorably and imporably, fatally and savagely. Drugs, arms, corporations. On second thought, has anything really changed at all? Another line of this cocaine, and I'll tell you.
Wait. That wasn't cocaine. The story is about to take an awful turn, like when Cinderella decided to fuck the pumpkin, or some other phallic cucurbit. What did enter my brain via blood roaring through my nose and now screaming in my ears, with the beating drum of Cheney's wardum, but much louder, like Lexington Steele pounding beloved Prince Di before her unfortunate fate in a speeding car, just like the guy from Jackass. Funny how loved and not-so-loved people have the same pathetic fate, yet everyone still puts so much energy loving strangers instead of those around them.
The biggest threat America faces today is some traitor called Snowden. Traitor? Didn't he do democracy justice. That's right, he is no traitor in the obvious sense of the word. Democracy is both cursed and blessed with the two sides of double-speak, as all organizations that maintain the resemblance of integrity. Democracy takes the fine edges of an ancient sword. First it cuts into the earth, striking down with every blow that which opposes freedom and justice, and with the upswing, cuts the remaining souls down that raise the question of sacrifice.
"How much are we willing to lose?"
"To gain?"
"How much is too much?"
It is the same, every generation repeating the same questions while leaders study the past in order to maintain control over the immediate empires. No voter stands a chance against the torrents of political prowess that is bourne from the wealth of their predecessors, hereditary & merit, genetics and initiative. Suddenly a few thousand non-voters have access to their own empire, free from the chains of power hungry public servants set on the singular task of self-preservation in a world dominated by F-book, T'itter, SeeBS, AT&T, and other grotesque extensions of slavery and bondage that was once so obvious and well-defined. If it were up to me, I'd much rather go back to the days of slavery as a negro, because at least then I'd know who the real enemies were. Any man that held a whip or rifle. Nowadays, everyone carries a gun and whip, but they are concealed and nothing is what it seems. A lawyer can inflict as much damage as any whip or small arms fire, but the wound isn't apparent until death is standing too close behind you for reflexes to kick in. There is no chance for your body to convulse and thrash around, and the writ has already slit your throat.
Jesus Christ, I haven't even gotten to the computers I smashed after loading TOR, or the other things I burned as an effort to maintain my anonymity. Secrecy in a world with no secrets? Impossible, but somehow these drugs keep convincing me it's possible.
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All things are possible!
+1 Good read!
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d nothing is what it seems
+1
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Sometime earlier today I made a post, retracing my steps to the Road. Sober and sunny, lightyears away from this morning. The computer calls me over to it, like Flight of the Navigator, whispering my name in a psychotic stupor of childhood imagination and fantasy. Little did I know before this journey began, that time travel and flights were an integral part of the Road. From my uncle, a private contractor for the military, I always heard scuttlebutts about this and that, from computers to rockets to snipers making bets over 1,000 yard shots--not kills, but wild shots, shooting off ears and other bits and bobs before finalizing their objectives. Anyway, that news article was groundbreaking, and every glint of light splintered outside of my vision. It both angered me and enticed me.
How could I have been out of the loop regarding bitcoin? Angry over my own ignorance, which is often, so I buried my head in the forums and elsewhere. Bitcoin. Was it real? Is this some entrapment scheme? How easy it would be to snare poor bastards like myself. At any rate, arigato Satoshi Nakamoto. Domoarigato. So, it was possible to buy drugs online, safer than a Mexican pharmacy, domestic and as diverse as Amazon. Gawker. My first purchase on a Windows machine. In retrospect, I hold my head in shame, but it's not the dumbest thing I've done involving the drug trade. In grade school I paid a dozen quid for some grass in an exchange so asinine only a top notch moron could achieve. I trudged forward, like molasses over flap jacks...
TOR. PGP. Silk Road. Got it. The next evolution in internet security, prying away the sordid layers of Russian malware. Goodbye Boris, for now. UnderGroundSyndicate. Sounds like a viable option. Some cannabis, not too dangerous, like jay walking. Trivial in light of Inspector Generals, who don't wipe the crumbs off their salaried bellies, such generous villians. Mid grade weed, affordable. It was fantastic, and the paranoia of federal charges and synthetic adulterants only increased the intoxication. Anyone could spray their product with JWH or some other understudied goodie. UGS provided a wonderful product, and twenty pounds later, I had a gas chromatogram that removed suspicion. It was just cannabis, nothing synthetic about it. The newly emerging underground market was proving to be both exciting and addicting.
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Fans are whirring, the light in the hall is on. Other rooms were flickering with activity--on, off, on, off--as I caught up on chores. Filing bills and notices, work papers, putting away laundry in tidy stacks, hanging shirts. All done now. What time is it? 3? 4? When did I hit that crystal? 0.5 mg glass hits in glassware, sucking it all in with a silly straw that whisltes if I pull to fast. I have to mind the neighbors... fucking silly straw. Water. Remind me to drink water when I'm done here. I brushed already... having read about "meth mouth"... no cigarettes. Brush and hydrate... but don't keep brushing. Stop brushing! Fuck... Floss? Fuck no, not now. My fingers are tapping the keyboard about 1.3 times for each keystroke. Tap tap tap...
Thanks SleepWhenYouDie. We are on the same level. Or I'm on a higher level than before, at least. Ave Maria just finished, followed by techno... Crystal Method. Fuck...
So the Road has delivered me to a state of being that has exceeded my highest expectations for what the Black Market is and ever will be. I'm the guy, now. No one I know has the connections I have. It doesn't say much for my peers as far as technology goes, but at least I enjoy my discovery, hiding it and keeping it secure. It is a pirate's booty, with a treasure map I hold in my head. Bitcoins and more... password protected. Neither written or spoken, when I go, so do they... Fuck... Such selfish beauty. Brain damage. Gone. Dead. Gone. No back ups. No leads. Just fantasy coins and a buyer history of hedonism and ambition.
DOx before methamphetamine. It was the first time I tweaked, but the not my initial psych either. Tweaking while on a psychonaut's journey. It was a mad race to catch up to my thoughts at the time. I guess I'm a little bit like Alduous Huxley in that regard--less visual and more lingual. I wrote for four hours while on my DOx journey. 4 mg of a halogenated amphetamine.... What about deuterated substances? That would be a fun experiment with RCs.
Deuterate me some THC.
DOx. Diamond lights flashed like Times Square. Colors and ideas flowed through me like the raging river that is methamphetamine. That river rages now, although now without the colors and distortion--just meth. Memories come back with the same intensity. My words from that night are safe for now. I'll share them eventually. Right now, I enjoy the reflection... To great surprise, I lost my mojo for an entire week. I was gelded, without an inkling for sex or masturbation... Oh well, it returned.
I've been down the amphetamine road before though. Adderall. Ritalin. Cocaine. Never meth, though. It seems like a logical consequence of exploration. So I'm exploring. Now. It's a great ride. It fits nice with Moonlight Sonata. Fucking Beethoven. Words stop, and emotion pours down my back like warm love, filling me up and taking me away... To where I was when I was a child. Lost in my own mind, day dreaming... It is how I got to where I am in my station in life. Thoughtful, creative, happy. The warmth continues to flow with every phrase, with every bar of celestial invention that is Beethoven... that is the Renaissance...
Have the world died, and those that remained had weathered through the End Times, which became the beginning of Time. Everything exploded with creation... Such beauty from such tragedy... World War II--from Werhner von Braun to the Moon Walk. V2 rockets to velcro... It is the perpetual motion of life, the struggle to survive and conquer. The never ending cycle that is existence.
Have you seen the latest Hubble image(s) of the death of a star? Such perfect beauty in destruction. It divides my social position, as I sometimes find romance in death... in the End. Because nothing is over... not really. My existence started from nothing... I did not exist before my physical conception. My consciousness grew to what it is over the many years I have survived, that I have existed through time and space--matter from which the entire Universe has in common. I am the fundamental being... as you are. As all conscious things are.