Certainties – Page 55

Mary Jane You Are Reborn Hard

I was just thinking of that. Reading again and hearing again about the outfall, the continuing developing story, the “strange and terrible saga”, the weird turnaround for cannibis sativa on the greatest planet in the solar system, Colorado. How things are going now that Washington State has developed new ideas about right and wrong. And that’s strong, followers. That’s strong medicine. There’s something wonderful about America. I wish someone would figure out what it is. But it’s out there. It’s out there.

I remember when a “lid” was seven dollars. $7. It wasn’t bad. It was all right. It was all there was and when you bought your tenth bag you got one free. All the dope was sort of flaky, not sticky. It was Mexican marijuana, unless it was from around Powell River and some of those places where the pot grew like Christmas trees.

Thai-stick. This was deadly stuff. You could. You really could. Get interested in throwing a stupid thing like a “Frisbee” for way too long. It came on little four inch bamboo sticks with a bamboo strand holding the goods together. It was good. And it came from a place called “Thailand”. That was an exotic country and you felt cool, and really wrecked, and it was new.

Thai-stick was a lot more like the excellent stuff that’s around today. It blew your head off. I mean that figuratively. Figuratively. BC bud. Pretty darn famous as the best. So proud.

The beastly bud mostly doesn’t grow in the ground as far as I’ve heard. Never been in a modern grow-op. All I know is I get my stuff from a gentleman who has good stuff. I swear by grass. It’s nice and green. I like the look. There’s nothing like a brilliant patch of green grass in the sun.

I feel sorry for all the people who were damaged by the law because of sweet Mary Jane. That’s right. You can talk about absurdities, but if you have to live them, and suffer, Mary didn’t know anything about it. I’m just a plant. A weed, darn it, that grows in the darn ground. I’m not going to jail, or submit to some sort of bullcrap fine. I’m Mary Jane!

Are there people still in jail in the great USA for possession of weed? Ah, they probably did more than that. But I remember those fantastical tales of some poor Texan getting 20 years or something for pot. Great, cruel state of Texas. That was the story. Sorry about that, prisoner. Born in the wrong time.

Weed shops are growing like bakeries. It does need controlling. But by the good guys. And girls. Time and again it’s been shown that there’s nothing worse than something getting out of control.

The anti-weed brigades have retired or died off. They got smoked out. Why couldn’t they realize a lot of things are just a passing fancy? Weed may die out. But it shouldn’t be illegal.

“I wonder what they do in there?” Now, come on. 1 hour parking? You gotta be kidding. Oh, oh. I see. It’s just a “dispensary”. I have to check this place out.

With apologies to Gustav Hasford

Afternoon of A Morning Glory

It was late. I mean it was early. I don’t know what I mean. There’s some pretty beautiful things happening around here. And something else. It’s spacey. It’s Kevin Spacey. After the face-lift. That’s not fair.

Together we can do great things. I know we can. I must be dreaming. And I hate clichés. Hate ’em. What’s that sound? It’s somebody’s car in the lane. Vroom vroom. It’s six o’clock in the morning. You blink and get half up, thinking it’s your turn to set the blind. It’s a brilliant new morning and you’re not ready for it. You’ve only been down four hours. But you can feel it. You know it’s the glory of the morning and it’s time to meet it head-on. It looks like a head-on collision.

You remember the trumpets. And, oh, the trumpeting. The blast from the past. And you’re thinking, “Who exactly was the first disc-jockey to come up with that?” It doesn’t matter now. That’s so yesterday. Immediately it’s “who said that too”? Cut it out. It’s too early. The sound of the trumpet. A distant trumpet. They’re meowing at me to come. At least that’s what it sounds like. Meow meow. Not quite. It’s the actual cat doing that. She wants out. It’s 6:01 in the morning and everyone, including the flowers, forgot I’m not a morning person? It’s awful. I mean wonderful.

The intensity of these flowers in the sun. It’s incredible out here. How come I didn’t know about this? Get out of here. I did know about it. I just couldn’t face it.

And it’s been like this for weeks. While England slept. The images don’t do justice. I hate that expression. So why use it? Because I’m dumbfounded. Everybody knows what that’s like. It’s like when you’re dumbfounded. It’s something in your past. And what you didn’t know then you certainly won’t know now. You’re outraged that you didn’t know about this. Outrage is the wrong word.

You’ve answered the bell before and that’s what you’re doing this morning. You’re answering the bell. Answering the bell? That makes no sense. You’re so tired. I’m so tired, Grandma. My cliché thingy is working hard as rain. It’s overflowing. And with love, strange other-worldly love. I’m doing everything I can and obviously it won’t be enough. It could be over.

It might be over here. Already. Life’s like that. The end is the answer to every problem. If only. This planet cannot be saved. Forget it. The incredible sound of the flowers, bright and clear. It’s like how can they not last forever? But they don’t. It’s going to be over soon and you better get your bets in now. Here comes the big shrivel.

We be going back on ourselves. We be spending our coin and disappearing, jah. What was barely started is already almost over. It’s tragic. It happened to my shoes. They just plum wore out. Italian plums. I’ve never seen them since.

It’s 1:00 pm. I mean 2:00 pm. I mean 4:00 pm. I don’t know what I mean. It’s tough when you start to see your friends disappear. You just met them this morning and now they’re folding and moving on. It’s what they do.

It’s like why can’t things be different? I’m a young flower. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me. But your time, your hours, your district and everything about you is on the wane. Get off him. You know what? Wane should move out of here. He hasn’t paid the rent forever.

It’s five in the afternoon. Some are blaring. Some are shriveling. Some are waning. Wane has a core group of followers and not a lot else. He’s good though. And don’t get me started on the female waners. In fact, don’t get me started on ‘don’t get me started’. Less later. It’s over but for others it’s just beginning. It’s what happens.

This Image Isn't Sharp Enough — This Image Isn’t Sharp Enough

Photogs courtesy CS Nicol

Cat Pictures

That’s right. Something’s happened. And what that something is no one can rightly say. Because there’s always a bit of mystery even with the commonest things. So while we wait for a translation of what that means what do we do? Cat pictures. Of course it’s the right thing now. It’s au courant. So au courant. Who cares if what’s happening here today exposes a total lack of ideas? Nothing really artistic, no weather report, no insight into anything that can be considered as half-way compelling, no add-ons, no free gifts, not much of anything really. Cat pictures.

As always, let it play itself out. Don’t resist! Go along as you get along. Wait for your opening no matter how long it takes. Nothing lasts forever except how can anybody know that? Come on now.

6:04 pm. The roofers two doors over to the east are working hard. The weather is good and you can’t blame them for still being on the job when they probably started at 7 am. They probably live in Surrey and are working until the traffic dies down and they can get home faster. Right now it sounds like a couple of guys getting drunk. With saws and nail guns. Just don’t even think about it.

That’s unfair. And I hate that. Hate unfairness. Surrey has nothing to do with it. Now there’s really prolonged drilling. Drill drill drill. Working hard to get something done. Everybody’s experienced that. And it’s getting late. And when do you quit? When do you finally give up? Because even if you live right here in Fairview it’s about getting home at some point, right? You have a home? And you can go there? Now? Drill drill. I’ve worked 12 hour shifts.

Whatever it is, though, there’s always something inevitable about it. I mean I’ve felt that. Felt that somehow none of this could have been avoided even if I’d tried, which I did. Some things are hopeless. Let’s at least have a look at it. At least have a look at how I didn’t want to admit to myself, or yourself as the case may be, how it’s about trial and error. But what’s the point in keeping score all the time? And what’s the difference anyway?

Cat pictures. That’s what you get told. Try doing your best all the time as if that’s possible and go with your idea. Even if you don’t know what it is. Who is it that doesn’t know? Right again. Cat pictures.

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