I smoked my first joint at 13 years old… Ohhh I was a bad ass! I smoked that hoolie like it was the 100th one I’d smoked, as if I were a seasoned smoker, an elite toker, a bionic chronic, a right said pot head, a loner stoner! And my friends, oh they watched in awe… As the smoke of the Gods filled my lungs, my eyes gained new red-eyed sight, my consciousness took flight and I passed the dutchie pon the left hand side with baked delight!
But something funny happened after that day… I really did become a stoner. I really did become a seasoned smoker, an elite toker and a supersonic bionic chronic of infinite proportions. And soon… I was getting high every fucking morning at 8:30 am on the bleachers before class. I would wake and bake… get high just for resisting reality’s sake… and all of my classes blitzed and bombed I would take! My teachers knew I was a smart girl though, just a smart girl who smelled like a fine mixture of purple haze and patchouli, with a penchant for paranoid twitches and brain circuit glitches. I could never seem to eliminate that 12 second delay from the time I was asked a question to the time I answered. They would give me a grace period and watch me squirm as my slow and steady brain tried like the little engine that could to retrieve and gather the required information and answer in record time… 3 or 4 times longer than it took everyone else to cough up the goods.
The years went by and I adjusted. And soon, I wasn’t even high anymore… Because it was my natural state of being, my natural way, the stoner sway, the unmotivated slacker carpe diem of seize the day… Or the joint anyway!
So I graduated high school, and not with honors! And my classes, what a bunch of yawners. But fuck, I passed… I had a blast, and I was an adult at last! I don’t remember anything I learned or gained, unless you consider the loss of many brain cells, memory and motor skills, and a sketchy paranoid demeanor that can’t quite be explained.
Onto college, working, and cocaine I go… Leaving behind me the innocent harmless horticultural glow. Because now my life is moving faster, the house music, parties, money and techno… My current self competing against my former self, tryin’ to outlast her. And things were sorta crazy, things were getting’ hazy, and not that same purple haze from high school that gave me a happy glaze, no… I was tweakin’, and freakin’, and my mind was movin’ too fast for my mouth which was speakin’. A Saturday night was NEVER just a Saturday night, because it went into the next day and sometimes afternoon, and before I knew it the sun was replacing the moon. And I was sketchy, and I was weird, and I was wired and never tired, because I was chemically altered, and permanently faltered.
And then one day I opened my eyes and said “shit… I don’t even know what reality is anymore”… I have tripped and fallen and lost the door. I have traveled away from my centered spiritual core. I have become a depraved creature of habit and substance, always wanting more, and not the kind of substance that makes me feel good anymore. I can’t do this… I gotta stop, and if I don’t, I’m just gonna drop! My life will be in vain, no one will remember my name, and I will probably have a heart attack, or just go completely insane.
So I stopped getting high one day and embraced my reality, I swallowed hard and faced my personal fatality… It wasn’t easy, coming to terms with my flawed abnormality… Realizing that the state of my body and mind was because of my own destructive brutality.
And I knew… The only way I could truly cleanse my soul, the only way that I could again feel whole, get my life on a roll… was to forget about drugs… and use poetry and language to demonstrate my total lack of control.