5 th.April.

05/04/2007
08:25
Had a helluva night; first joint went straight to my head and I had to retire, fully clothed to the bed. Unfortunately I hadn’t locked the door so a few noises caused me grief.
I spent the next two and a half hours trying to rid my neck of tension, would have been a lovely kip but neck wasn’t going to let me sleep, no way.
I got up, feeling refreshed and hungry so I treated myself to a Sunday dinner, top side beef, tato, carrots and gravy.
Then second joint.
There was a program on the TV at the time, Highlander or something and there was some horrendously fast fight scenes.
After watching several consecutive fights each fought with a different weapon my eyes were showing the strain of following the action and I decided from the growing feeling in the pit of my stomach that is was time to return to bed and give up this savage amusement.
More wrestling with the muscles of my neck and back followed until wearied by the effort I must have drifted off to a relaxed sleep. I was aware that my mind was working well and was involved in some apparently well organised task.
The usual material and thoughts/thoughts and material drifting around waiting to be noticed.
I wake up this morning with no need to dress, have tea and early morning joint. Next task is to close the curtains to block out the sun from the screen.
Beautiful, early morning sunshine being held back by the wafer thin curtains.
Truth is lots of those ideas were noticed and some even pondered upon but none were remembered the following morning; and that is sometimes very annoying.
I take a break to relight second half of first joint.
I believe I’m hearing ducks outside, then realise the sound is coming from the background of the new age meditation music I’m listening to.
Bet there’s not many people as relaxed as this at this time in the morning.
Power of stone compared to energy exerted is favourable.
I hear the sparrows chirping outside, or at least I think they are outside. A lot of the tracks use natural birdsong in the background and they are perfect for sunny mornings like these.
I sit back and relax and think to my self,
“Fuck, I love my sounds”
I’d hate to be in a work environment which didn’t include my sounds, preferably not through head phones.I do use headphones, rarely, I had many people try to get me to use them,(sick of listening to my sounds? No most enjoyed them).
I think of it this way I don’t need to wear a vagina to appreciate oral sex so why grow appendages to listen to sounds. The ear is the collection device as well as housing our auditory system. I didn’t find out until a couple of days ago that one ear is better to focus on music and the other is better at picking up conversations; obviously I’ve forgotten which was which, but caught my eye.
Been on some wicked image sites these last few days, illusionary art I’m beginning to like and I’m still getting amazed by some of the digital reproduction. I may be imagining this but I noticed a lot of the sites I stopped on this week tended to be the older sites, some often not been updated for a couple of years.
I apologise if the above is not true so I’ll rephrase and say they appear to me not to have been updated for some time. This is generally where I find material which catches my eye and I am only to glad to try and promote it by including it in my blog.
I have feelings for these sites and sense their apprehension of obscurity.
What I’m trying to say is I do not feel guilty reproducing someone’s lines if I found the material on an “old” site.
I felt lucky falling over the guitarist vids on you tube, saw some good clips on tube, daily motion and one other site, possibly a couple more.
Seems to be a community of similar sites growing from the need to screen everything to the monitor.
Went into some Archive site, wasn’t B.B.C., may have been simply Internet archive; whatever there was a huge section on the early bands, I mean dance bands and some of the clips are worth rooting out.
Blues and early jazz section worth a visit. Would be a great source for someone putting a history of genre together.
9:13 AM Second Joint of the morning; I nearly jump out of my skin when the post rattles the letterbox, I’m jumpy, neck’s taught, I sit back and try to relax.
Quite pleased with quality of typing, pleased isn’t the word, I’m fucking amazed at the lack of mistakes considering there is a definite presence of a high inside my head.
Enjoyed listening to some good drum solos plus a few home guitarists knocking out their individual versions, takes on standards etc.
Tried to get interested, honestly, I did try to get “involved”; I went through several of the new bands to come onto the play lists and I couldn’t drum up a lot of enthusiasm.
Probably not surprising when I stop to remember how physically old I am.
I have a natural thirst for sounds and will pursue many avenues to listen to anything which is considered to be new, in the meantime I listen to most lyric free sounds that are available to me on one station.
Simplicity rules.
Has to be the golden rule when stoned at the keyboard, keep things simply and within easy reach.
Enjoyed the Ricky jervais take off of the stars visiting Africa for the charity appeal.
Not been a News hound or one for watching anything remotely connected to appeals be they charity or police. I fell across this for the first time and really fell head first into it at the beginning, come on how many others did? Was I the only one? I think not.
Put it this way it is still in my memory and therefore has succeed in lodging in a privileged part of my brain, so it worked for me.
Another short clip which I liked was the three minute wonder on the TV which gave buskers the chance to tell us what being a busker involves, the bad points obviously.
If I remember correctly seeing one busker emptying his takings bag I wouldn’t have minded being fifty behind him.
So it didn’t succeed in getting my sympathy; was it meant to elicit such emotion?
My spell check insists on correcting jervais,
that piece about people being able to read easily words which were obviously misspelt but the first and last letters were correct so the brain can still read them properly.
I take a deep breath, stretch and close my eyes to listen to the gentle sounds of a metal xylophone, why couldn’t he have played the tuba or sax would have been easier to type?
I really have come to prefer what I term simplistic , simple sounds , solos, duets or trios of instruments playing simple progressions of notes.
No fast riffs or extraordinarily complicated runs up and down octaves.
Simple notes played on a violin, harp and piano combine, intermingled by the high crystal clear, icy tones of a metal tubular bells set up.
The trouble with writer’s diarrhea, (that one’s not in spellcheck,why?)
is that it is just the same as normal diarrhea one feels better when it’s all out and you can relax once again.
The room has chilled down, my punishment for blocking the sun out of the room, to stop the reflection on the monitor and to stop me feeling guilty for sitting here on such a fine day; again.
To be truly free you must be able to have all the time to be yourself.
Once you begin to be yourself in a safe environment
you can begin to get to know yourself
and possibly gain an insight into your true feelings.
I wrote that! Just now.
Meditation and mild self hypnosis doesn’t always require a trance like state.
Now I suppose a trick cyclist reading this would diagnose me as being , what?
How would they describe my state at this very moment in time?
Quite probably how they described it the first time, a psychotic episode fuelled by Cannabis use, right words were drug induced psychosis or something like that, I spend too much effort trying to remember trivial details.
When I explained I used Cannabis as an aid to me working on the computer for long periods of time, I was told no one could use a keyboard and type after 17 joints; apparently I only thought I could, in reality I would not have been able.
I was hallucinating, imagining, and unable to distinguish between reality and what? Fantasy.
My, My I have got my mid a racing , getting bogged down with non important thoughts.
Wouldn’t matter what label they came up with to describe me, one thing would be for certain; I would have to accept their findings without question.
If you are told you are suffering with a mental illness then you fucking well are!
And that label will stick as securely as any bloodthirsty leach for the rest of your natural.
Oh, and by the way, we will scare the shit out of you by telling you this illness will be with us for the rest of our lives and we have to take drugs to control this aspect of our behaviour.
If you stop taking the drugs, heaven forbid your mind became clear enough to have such a thought!
You will undoubtedly run a good chance of ending up back here in the mental ward for another assessment; AND you certainly don’t want that to happen.
But apparently some patients do want that to happen because when I asked some of the patients why they were in? they would reply, “Fucked up, with me meds”.
Why would someone think I would want to live life feeling like a worn out zombie, enduring side effects, gaining weight, just to stop the unproven chance that I may have a relapse.
I know the tablets are powerful because if I take one now after not having taken one for a long time they cause me to return to bed for my own safety within the space of thirty minutes.
I’m supposed to allow my mind to be regulated?
I’m told I exhibit all the classic signs of the illness by someone who hasn’t spent more than ten minutes a week with me and who refuses to listen to someone who insets fuck between every other word.
I was angry at her.( my defence rests).
I wander as I wonder about the wiseness of giving up the meds,
I think and believe I got my mind back just in time; hell I was starting to believe these people. But the bible holds more reason to believe it than the reposts of these people.
There was a similarity in the complete absence of any facts, anything concrete because diagnosis is such an unstructured procedure, so ambiguous and dependant on a relationship on equal levels between a patient and so called cyclist.
Personality clash, such as between myself and the shrink, fuelled by my complete inability to afford her the respect she so obviously was used to getting, she at one time demanded it of me,
I then started to use the fuck word; I even offered to illustrate how versatile the word was and how it had got so intertwined into the English as to be the most common used word. Seems that way at times.
She wasn’t interested and dismissed with a haughty nod of her head anything I said which contained the fuck word, which was everything.
What did the medications do? You may ask.
Well you are usually distraught after being forcibly ejected from your house and informed you have been sectioned and have to remain in this hospital surrounded by professional nutters for an un specified length of time.
Sorry I mustn’t run down the system too much I forgot to mention the act of kindness in allowing you the choice of transport.
Ambulance or Police van ? Sir.
I was wearing hand cuffs so I chose police car which was conveniently parked outside for all the street to see.
I have been in some weird positions in my life; have gone on some fantastic mind bending trips and put my brain through all sorts of torture using a variety of chemicals.
But sat in the back of that van thinking “How the fuck have I ended up in here?”
I would have thought I was having a bad trip, I even calculated how long it had been since I had the last mushroom pack. It was almost comical except it was happening for real and it was happening to me.
Bumping my head every few seconds on the van roof and sides helped to keep reality alive.
But again I must apologise for straying away from the question which may or not have been what was the meds like?
Think first night was helped pass with sleepers and then a regime of meds was worked out for me and I was told to accept them or else.
“Or else what?”, I ask, ever so naively.
Fucking inject you.
Well the first time they injected me they caught me on the hop so to speak.
I hadn’t leant that no door is ever locked in a mental hospital and they ganged up on me and raided the bathroom where I’d been laid enjoying three joints.
I instantly gained twenty odd years and took on the posture of a seventy year old man with the same energy levels, walking involved shuffling movements of the feet, gentle movements almost apologetic.
Unfortunately a lack of co ordination comes on and although the patient is able to shuffle along his sense of direction is all but fucked and collisions appear to be mandatory.
But at least the patient gets to meet people as he bumps into them then apologises in a slurred voice, for his actions, then bumps into same person minutes later.
Often there would be more than one patient who had been injected and often two would pair up and decided to walk towards each other along a predetermined stretch of the passage way and god betide anyone who got in their direct way; more collisions, more apologies.
I was told any medication I took would help me in the long run.
Hell I didn’t intend to fight the use of drugs so bring ‘em on. I took all I was prescribed and I could get sleepers on request, plus good supply of cannabis.
I felt a lot better on the Cannabis than on the medication.
I have a dim recollection of waking up surrounded by nursing staff so I wonder if they did knock me out the first time because of my hostile behaviour brought on by the sheer bewilderment and anger at being in such a situation, placed her by persons unknown, that really screwed my mind up.
Apart from a couple of occasions when the meds zombified me, usually when given something new for first time and then seems to have no further effect when taking further doses.
Couple of times we hot drunk on vodka and the meds that night went down well, mixed in favourably with alcohol.
I was told that the medication was to control my moods and avoid a repeat of my recent incident. Ah! I thought.
A likely topic for discussion, a chance to question,
“What incident?” I ask, “Tell me what the fuck I’ve supposed to have done?”
The answer?
Only you can answer that, you will stay here until you can do so.
I knew I was on to a loser, I hate puzzles and especially ones which require memory recall.
I began to rack my brain, What the hell had I done? Have I killed or hurt someone while in a drunken stupor? No I no longer drink to excess.
Surely I would have remembered doing something important enough to get me sectioned as mental case.
Surely.
I have never ever in my whole life put my brain through such an effort as to come up with an answer. Never. Possibilities grew in my clouded mind, clouded by doubt;
Doubting my own sanity because of my inability to answer the question why am I here, what have I done?
You are surrounded by members of staff but they are only there to observe you, but not by interaction, oh no, they watch from a distance and fill in their hourly check lists for each patient.
I remember the nurse who caught me having a joint in the bath said she would report it as “relaxing in bath”, I remembering thanking here.
Thanking people never happened very often on the ward.
I remember thanking the staff for making the bed and tidying up my bedroom, and for leaving alone the piece of solid on the bedside cabinet shown off in all its glory by being seated in the middle of a white coffee doilie.
In truth I cannot say with any degree of honesty that I felt any of the effects of the medication. I sensed no definite change in me or my moods.
My feelings were inflamed by the situation, anger, fear, regret? For what? Suspicion, confusion, self doubt, mixed with a sometimes painfully clear realisation of life.
Something so seemingly ridiculous can be perfectly legal and you can be dragged out your own home, because of someone you haven’t even met.
I apologise for dwelling on the entrance to the strange world but it really was a terrifying experience and I have never felt so powerless and overwhelmed by authority ever in my life even having had to beg to power mad servants at the dole centre.
Because you do not know who instigated such action you have to naturally suspect everybody, this was quite easy for me because I had only had a handful of acquaintances since locking myself away in the office.
My only link to the outside was my parents and of course I had to also suspect them so I refused to see them for a while until my anger and suspicions with its apparent importance
Calmed down.
I took the time to reflect when I settled down into the routine and accessed a regular supply of Cannabis with three days of being admitted.
I decided to make up for the long hours wasted on trying to figure out the why’s of the situation and spend a similar amount if not more time doing the opposite and chilling out, taking full advantage of all that was on offer.
I realised that there has been very, very little in my life so far that I have considered dear, I had changed and my past life was forgotten about purposely to block out asking the question why was I there, what had happened.
The dope allowed me to stop thinking of every passing minute and get lost by absorption in playing the keyboard or playing a guitar whilst sitting in a garden enjoying a joint in the early morning fresh air.
I would sit nicely stoned, head supported by high back invalid chair, close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the ward.
The incessant telephone bells, the radio advertising cheap cut price bathrooms. Members of staff asking questions and asking if anyone has seen, whoever happens to be missing from her list.
Sometimes I’d pretend to be asleep and earwig conversations between embarrassed parents and their frightened offspring.
Patients with their care workers or whatever, telling them what the voices have side this week what torment those same voices is wrecking inside a confused head.
I open my eye lids to just a crack to listen and watch a patient tell of black birds chasing her towards the edged of the cliffs, I look at her worker who is dressed from head to foot in black, semi Goth style, with piercings to match.
No fucking wonder she was dreaming of black birds etc.
Some patients have long often argumentative conversations with themselves, they will shut up if they think some one is watching them but if you sit near them and close your eyes, pretend to be asleep and off they go.
Sometimes for an hour or so,
I would sit shaking my head a thin smile on my lips listening to some of the more extreme conversations when the topics fly off in all directions, then seemingly re emerge later to form an ever so tenuous link.
Likened it to an infant sat talking to a doll or imaginary friend.
Self analysing then conversing in the third person,(think that’s right). In whatever mode they are often critical of themselves, almost to a form of abuse, low, very low self esteem fostering the creation of various symptoms of behaviour.
I pause for a smoke, joint three.
My train of thought has just been shattered by a totally unwanted advert from apple advertising itunes. I have no intention of putting money into their coffers, if I have ever feel the need to have a collection again I will return to file sharing sites regardless of the dangers.(perceived).
I listen to my sounds and ponder over my statement that I listen to lyric free sounds. I no longer have any interest, really, in listening to lyrics, struggling to understand majority because unable to understand singers lingo. Too much like hard work.
True such classics as Dark side of the moon when in the mood but for the majority of the time I’ve conditioned myself to accepting what is basically one step up from musac in some people’s eyes.
Another fight with spellchk. Over musac.
I of course in an effort to prove my sanity must therefore disagree with the opinion that I listen to background noise developed for shopping centres and lifts.
What should a drug do for you?
What do you want from your drug of choice?
There’s two topics for conversation, seeing as we have veered away from the use of drugs in mental institutions to their use outside in the wider community.
Most heroin users I think (I have no knowledge, facts), use their drug to escape, either their real world or at very least their perception of it.
Acid and mescaline are used by the curious who are willing to travel along the paths of uncertainty to become part of, fully immersed in a world where reality only seems. Expansion of the mind, widening of the perceived goalposts, realisation of how inaccurate measurement was in terms of describing depth of feeling or emotion.
Realising ones pitiful existence is measured by the circle of acquaintances you have. Who’s in a bitter mood then?
Experiencing an acid trip of similar , experiencing a world so distorted, yet beautiful to a degree never previously felt.
It taught me to have the strength of mind to be able both doubt the improbable yet remain open minded about the apparent truth.
I was probably just getting older and more sceptical, becoming a grumpy old man.
People who use prescription drugs are looking for a different effect, one that they know will be repeated each “trip” identical to the last and the one before that etc.
People who take the circuit drugs of ecstasy, learnt it was first known by a completely different name with a totally different meaning., hop heads forgotten. That’s it!
Empathy, it was known as that in the 18 hundreds.
The name was changed to add effect when it became popular.
Hell it makes them dance like marionettes and party till they drop so we can see what they get out of it. An excess of energy and feeling of well being, we all could do with some of that.
Then there’s the coke head, and the druggie who has only taken it a few times, he describes the line, emphasising the width or length, but seldom describes the buzz. Usually describes some never before performed feat of physical endurance, usually involving sex and attributes success of mission on cocaine.
I do not know anything about it so I will quit.
Speed I have experienced and it was one of the drugs I have taken and never felt at ease in as much as I felt not in control of the situation at all. In my opinion dangerous.
At my age not needed, I never want to go that fast again. I snapped a pool cue in half by sitting down with it down my trousers, never felt a thing.
The local drug squad set me up for possession of speed after failing for years to pin any supplying charges on me, but continuing to bust me for cultivation, the result of the bust three months. I don’t like speed.
Now we come to Cannabis which has a number of unknown attached to it. The higher up the chain you are, i.e. the nearer the dealer the less chance of fluctuation in quality, the lower down the chain you accept what you are given and take a chance.
I don’t gamble, I spend two pound per week on lottery tickets but normally my life is without gamble or risk.
I used to gamble with my purchases because they were regular, I bought each week, regardless of what was in. So, by maths I was prone to / likely to experience disappointment.
I now gamble that when my dealer who sees solid as a way of appeasing the masses to fund his love of high grade, high price skunk; informs me that he has good deal on skunk I but in and I have not been disappointed this time.
It’s not quite the holy grail but I’ve dropped lucky and had a pay out in the “near jackpot” region.
I am a tolerator of solid but lover of green type of person.
I chose Cannabis as a social drug of choice in the seventies, home brew and home grown just seemed to go together so well. I didn’t realise at first that I was relying on it as a painkiller, a social drug, a sounds enhancer, a relaxant, a means of escape. I also found the plants to be truly beautiful and eager to repay the growers TLC with THC.
We used weed to break down the barriers between people in much the same way as alcohol but without the threat of possible violence or disagreement. I helped drop inhibitions and promote frank and honest debate. My gatherings would cover age range 25 to 60, several differing circles of life each with their own outlook on life and often their expectations.
Many an evening with five blokes having a drink and a smoke assisted debate in front of an open fire, only one guy refused to smoke the weed, he drank like a fish but wouldn’t touch the weed. We accepted him and only occasional offered it to him when we had hot upon a good harvest. Some of the wives tried it but they were to often interested in drinking and gabbing, they were kicked out into the cold backroom to chatter away to their hearts content.
It had taken a few years to get the stock of plants up to an acceptable quality, a lot of hit and miss and exchanging of seed went on until good strains were successful grown without the intervention of the drug squads. The trademark of the gear was normally the giggles, a completely uncontrollable phenomena which would start with an infectious chuckle which quickly spreads around the room till everyone if affected to some degree.
Often these outbursts would erupt during a discussion which had somehow become too serious to be true and we realised we were burning precious grey cells on a topic, not worth a wank. Or as a response to someone trying to get a serious point over to four giggling guys who don’t give a fuck what is being said.
Fits of giggles were good and left you feeling good and relaxed. That was the weed effect for quite a while.
Then I was introduced to the sledgehammer effect of Sensi. The first time on it; it crept up behind me and threw my head forwards to hit the table and then as quick threw it backwards hard against the backitchen wall.
It then stepped back, held out it’s hand and said “hi!”
It then started asking me awkward questions like,
How the fuck do you think you are going to drive now?
How the fuck do you think you can walk?
A masterfully sounding voice in the back of my head seemed to bellow,” Crawl you bastard” I crawled. I crawled down the road, crept into the bushelter and crawled up the stairs of the bus, before getting the conductress to promise to wake me up when she reached the but stop, which conveniently was outside my front door.
From that time on more and more exotic weed strains were available and with them came different highs and personalities. Each named gear was known for its traits.
If anyone is under the impression that street Cannabis is getting stronger then they should have a week in Amsterdam, staying in a smoker friendly hotel and try some of the range of powerful smokes on offer.
The stuff we are expected to buy is not a patch on what is available day in and day out in the coffee shops and hotels.
We have strayed that far from the path we need transport to get back.
Do we also now include the soda and caffeine addicts who crave their daily intake.
Coffee is said to keep you awake,
Not if you put enough Rum in it!
I am loath to even mention Alcohol as someone’s drug of choice but it apparently is popular and in conjunction with clever marketing ploys and media coverage the bulk of the public is corralled into high price establishments and relieved of their hard earned cash in return for a unpredictable outcome, made worse by being in the company of similar fated individuals.
I pause for a sip of my Whisky, lime and lemon. Sip becomes two large mouthfuls and taste is welcomed by tongue.
I don’t know why but I feel compelled to add to this section on Alcohol a consideration of its cost to society in terms of medical help, shattered family life, and pressure on police resources.
I cannot understand a nation which claims to like its drink yet prefers to fill stomachs to the limit with high priced gassy beer and lagers rather than tasting the delights of whisky or a spirit of their choice.
Yesterday is history,
Tomorrow is mystery,
Today is a gift,
that’s why they call it the present.
I like that.
I’ve rolled my next joint up, could be third or fourth, who’s counting?
I’ll be asking questions after.
Why do I prefer cannabis? Because it seems to adapt to the occasion. If smoked with company it will provoke discussion and a sense of light heatedness.
If smoked alone it can enhance the chosen environment.
If used one to one can be used to elevate pleasure of togetherness and value of company, with the senses heightened, enthusiastic and experimental foreplay is exceptional and the act of sex becomes a natural ending rather than a first course eaten (forgive the pun), in a hurry.
Out of the recesses of my foggy mind; I seem to remember reading, I may be wrong!, that the biggest killer of our teenagers was automobile accidents.
IF that’s true shouldn’t there be alarm bells going off somewhere and someone ordering someone else to look into it, find out why, find out what is so obviously wrong with teenagers and driving today and fucking well fix it.
Personally I’d brink back the 850 Fiats and make them ride them for a minimum of two years and any penalties incurred during those two years would mean longer spent behind the wheel of the Fiat before full license could be issued.
Or worse still give them all three wheelers painted green, and just to be nasty block reverse gear off so they have to go through the indignity of lifting their car off the road to turn it round.
I’ve just lapped the hamster in the wheel!
Now the second stage of the stone comes on and the stone is felt throughout the whole of the body, only problem with that plan is the obvious awkward policy of non co-operation being adopted by the neck and all the muscles surrounding it down to the middle of the shoulder blades but apart from that pretty well relaxed.
I did mention, didn’t I? I take Cannabis for pain relief. That is why I gauge a good joint by its ability to prompt me to return to bed and enjoy the relaxation which hopefully follows as the stone takes full effect.
Few more decibels delicately added to the volume but the sounds remain in the not to distant background. A hesitation as the thought to change the genre crosses my mind. I consider the options and agree a little more life would be in order.
I choose chill out vibes and almost instantly the thought, “You’ve made a fuck up”, crossed the forehead on its way round.
I usually do react to change in that way I’m pessimistic to start with so am easily pleased when successful.
Sounds of space lift offs merging with high pitched tones mixed with scratch and strings. Steady back beat grows then disappears abruptly to be replaced by ever increasing volume sound of tom tom interdispursed with scratch and emerging white noise and tubes, electronica steels in as does the usual angelic choir voices which are shot trough with laser light action by scratch and scream, tempo quickens to a quick stroll tempo and then accident and collision of sounds, original rhythm emerges to the other side but instruments become harsher then melody out into heavenly ascension effect which completely takes over the show, coming as it does in waves then to be phased out and replaced with archipelago dots of resonating sounds , simplistic sounds reminiscent of old electronic keyboards.
So if someone asks you what kind of sounds do you like? Just lie and say classical, anything to save trying to describe what you regularly listen to.
I’m not a fan of what I term synthetic voice effects, I tolerate them but not a fan of the effect of bringing the voice to the foreground and then fading away.
This becomes the first tune listened to since I got up that contains lyrics, but they don’t seem to cry out for attention they are more like a extra instrument in harmony enough to blend in.
If someone had tried to tell me I would be listening to sounds which appear to be made by a woggle board, a baby’s rattle, and a French man talking I would have took no notice.
To me its feels like a modern jazz interpretation at times but then at others comes over as completely new concept. A merging melting pot of sounds and effects.
It’s the difference that takes my interest and I work quite happily with it playing.
Who’s counting?
I used to watch people light cigars up and exhale with such contented movements as make one believe in the enjoyment felt by this privileged smoker of fine cigars.
I’ve smoked , I pause to rid the keyboard of ash, on or two cigars ranging n quality from crap to half decent but have never experienced the” cigar moment”, Unlike the Cannabis moment which I experience , more ash! Several times each session.
The draws that come off fully loaded, stinging the back of the mouth and throat as it hits home on the first part of its journey to you pleasure receptors which in turn will show their gratitude by providing you with an all over body experience which may or may not be to your liking.
Couple more decibels on volume, ash is spreading to a dangerous amount on key tops obliterating letters. Good practise, like typing in a snowstorm!
I break to give the remainder of the joint the respect it deserves.
It rewards me with a slight heightening, I sit, resembling Stephen Hawkins.
My eyes alive,
With maggots crawling,
maggots of shade.
I crawl back to bed.
Back up at 4.40 snacking on toast.
Enjoyed the day, the idea was as usual just to write as and if.