first off, lemme apologize fer not writin’ more.  There’s shit ta write about *laughs* TONS o’ shit… heaps of it,,, more than you can shake a stick at, tha’s fer sure.  There really ain’t no one reason Why I ain’t writin’ as much as I (or perhaps You) would like, either…

the most Obvious reason… ta me anyway, is the less than steady supply o’ hemp *sighs*  Hemp is Wonderful stuff… hemp makes the world go around, ya know?  Hemp shifts the mind into cruise control, limbers up the ol’ fingers, does the Vulcan mind meld between operator and operatee, becomin’ one with the machine… the line between me and keyboard gits all soft and fuzzy… words flow freely…

I think too much “straight” *sighs*

and as you all know, when I’m thinkin’ I Ain’t writin’.

folks tell me that thinkin’ is a Good thing *rolls eyes*

Sometimes, sure, ya, why not?

But ALLA the time? *laughs* gimme a break.

I been puttin’ together alla me lazies into a Word Doc fer editing and, perhaps, someday, publishin’ *shrugs*  Currently there’s 985 pages of the bloody things.  When all is said and done there’ll be around 1200 pages or so *rolls eyes*

Tha’s bigger than the bloody Manhattan phone book, ya know?

the Vast Majority of it was written back on the rock…

now then, I gotta reiterate the fact that there is absolutely no lack of subject material here in New York.  Quite the contrary.  This place is every bit as weird and fulla just as many freeks as that rock ever was, ya know?  Especially fer a dude like ME. *laughs*  every bloody day is an adventure, ya know?

but I ain’t churnin’ it out like I used ta… *sighs*

it Ain’t the Time… if there was Time during summer salmon ta whip out a lazy or two a day then there’s more than enough Time Now, ya know?

it Ain’t the ramifications from the in-laws or marshmallow white friends of friends, either.  If I could hack a bunch of crazed bozos back on the rock wantin’ ta cut me up fer crab bait over a few late night rants on the internet then I can most definitely handle the puffballs that might git a bit bent outta shape on This side o’ the world…

it ain’t the change in local

it ain’t the ups or downs…

it ain’t the wife…

*shrugs*

it’s the hemp.

an’ I ain’t even sure it’s the Being stoned so much as the Ritual of getting stoned, ya know?  Ritual is Powerful stuff,,, Goin’ through the motions…

openin’ the stash can and gittin’ hit with that first wave of aroma, then pokin’ around in the can, selecting those morsels that catch yer eye and dumping them on the tray, the sound of the buds as they thump, thick and dense, a  richly organic, earthy sound,,,, picking up that little pair of scissors that ya use ta cut hemp and only hemp, that are too small fer yer fingers and yet the perfect tool fer the job… like a surgical instrument… the snip snip snip as you dissect the bud into its component parts, turning the oddly shaped lump into a nice fluffy pile of radiant chritmassy colors, reds and greens and sparkly bits of frosty whites… the aroma intensifies, distinct, unique, like a fresh mowed lawn or a wet sidewalk after a summer rain… settin’ the scissors aside and admiring yer handiwork as you contemplate the implements of consumption… need yer hands free ta do some typin’ or serious video gaming?  time ta twist a joint, hang it from the corner of yer mouth, relishing the flavor of freshly fluffed pot… you can suck on a joint fer hours without lighting the bloody thing, there’s no stress, it’s there, it’s not going anywhere, it’s ready to go at a moments notice…  buzzin’ around the house, fixin’ some grub, doin’ a bit of cleaning?  perhaps a pipe is in order… pack a bowl—not too tight, not too loose—easy to carry around and set down (and misplace and forget about) as you sip the soup or sweep the floor… social gathering with lots of comrades?  bong, by all means bong, the elaborate, decadent ritual of filling the bong with ice and water, filling the little bowl with pot, passing it back and forth and that gurgly slurpy sound that is a combination of good food and good sex that goes with it…  sooner or later ya finally light the stuff and thin wisps of smoke snake into the air, not like a cigarette, not like incense, nothing smokes quite the same as hemp does, that rich, savory aroma fills the air, coyly sweet and seductive, heady like a fine wine or baking bread… the smoke rolls into your blood like liquid honey, thick but light, cool and melting, muscles you didn’t even know were tight begin to relax, that part of yer brain that you didn’t even know was there wakes up, thinking ceases to be linear, lateral, or logical,  concepts coalesce clearly, cleanly, with the purity of a perfect soap bubble, and just as fleeting, the sound of a shape or the color of a sound become very tangible realities… Time folds and before you know it you’ve nailed a high score, or whipped out yet another couple of pages of copy, or just chilled and dug, Really Dug, the music.

but the shit is illegal and nobody seems to even care that since the creation of Time more folks have offed themselves from over consumption of beer and wine than they have from puffin’ on some pot *sighs*  After all, we gotta save our children from the evils of drugs, ya know? *laughs*

the freeks.

Camels?  hey, over the counter.

Budweiser?  by the bucket.

Gallo?  gallons of it.

hemp?  fergit it kid, ain’t gonna happen.  not in this lifetime.

bah.

I’ve spent more time “straight” these past two years than I have in the 20 years prior to that and I can tell ya that bein’ “drug free” does not necessarily make one a more productive member of society.

So,

ya want lazies?  ya want muffmags?  ya wanna know about White Line Stien or Zearfoss Follies?  Curious just how manly Amanda is?  Wanna know what’s in the window of the Apple Pie Bakery or what’s floatin’ around in the Presidents Pond??  Wanna know what REALLY goes on inside the kitchen of yer average greasy spoon or behind the doors of Americas most prestigious culinary school?

then send some hemp.

or wait (like me) for me ta score some on my own.

there’s another 985 pages of copy in me

but it ain’t goin’ nowhere until I can mind meld with keyboard again. *shrugs*
 
 

Rock on
I gotta go
Torbjon