05 January 2010


Third post of the day, but I promise it's the last, and I promise this is the last time I'll ever do this. After re-reading my old poetry, though, I'm eager to talk about my past.

From July 08 to May 09, drugs played a major role in my life. I had the right personality for drug culture: I was intelligent enough to do it right, curious enough to try new things, rebellious enough to enjoy associating with something deviant, lonely enough to long for a community, rich enough to afford it, and "deep" enough to use it to my full advantage. What more, my body and mind reacted very well to everything I did, so it didn't cause me problems in any aspects of my life, like it did for others. In fact, thanks to marijuana, I grew a lot closer to my sister, and my grades went up for the first time in my life.

That period has passed by, and I have changed a lot, but I still look very highly at the experiences I once had. At the moment, I could almost see myself never doing a drug beyond hookah and beer again in my life, and I would not only be ok with that, I would be happy, and not even care. Still, I don't think I could ever look negatively at the amazing powers of mind-altering substances. Drugs, especially marijuana, have made me the person who I am today, and I wouldn't be the same without those experiences.

Here are some poems I wrote about drugs:
There’s a strange and deep dimension,
If you go there you’ll see
What it’s like to be in line
For the end of humanity.

There’s a nothing filled with nothing,
And it’s moving towards you
Taking everything it passes
Into darkness so pure.

When it’s near, try to run,
But already it’s too late,
And your soul slips in the darkness,
You think death must be your fate.

Then another comes along
Calmly settles down inside
And you wake up where you started
In the same dim light.

Everything remained the same
All these people never changed,
But you know and you can feel it:
Something here is very strange.

For you’ve never met these people,
Though you know them in your mind,
And you’ve never been a human,
What you were, you’ll never find.

So get used here to this world,
Take in everything it’s got,
Everything you do is different,
Don’t let any moment rot.

And when you look at the stars,
Know you’ve been to them before,
And you know the world is smaller,
Then in scientific lore.
-- 08.08.2008; this poem is about my first salvia trip

Split a 40, Smoke a Bowl
We live in a world where bongs become legend,
Stories we won't forget.
We all know the name of everyone's piece
Days we'll never regret.
We met you tripping and rolling and high
While loud music played;
We quickly became buddies for life
Before it got late.
At the light rail station we found a friend:
Hit his perfect joint.
We smoked in the city on stoner hill:
A name that we coined.
At home we fixed a drink for your mom
In roaring laughter.
At the house, we played a game of fooseball
And packed a bowl after.
At noon, in a Jeep, we sped on highways:
A hundred we'd go.
At dusk, we hid beneath those on-ramps:
Time passed us by slow.
A circle, always together, many halves
Of an infinite whole
And just when we though the moment was over
We smoked another bowl.

Dedicated to every stoner in the mile high city.
Thank you for being part of my life.

-- Spring.2009; There's no better place to be a stoner than in Colorado, methinks.

Let this always reign true:
Every morning I kiss you.
Feel your warm breath inside
As I prepare for the ride.

It's a cruel, cruel world in which we live.
Bombs go off and children weep.
Deep inside me someone pleas
"Break these bonds and give us peace."

Corporations bathe our minds
In regurgitated slime
As we hide in daylight
From the creatures of the night.

But I get by with a smile.
Blend right in, forget the time.
I know you're in my heart
Even while we're apart.

Here, no one'd understand
Why we're walking hand in hand.
They say you're an abomination,
But they've never been in love.

I wish we could run away.
I'd make love to you all day.
--  01.14.09; "Got to Get You Into My Life" is The Beatles' ode to marijuana: this is mine.

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