I LOVE YOU MARY JANE

A short history of my psyche:

When I was born I was prone to seizures. To combat this, my physician placed me, an infant, on phenobarbital. I was on this addicitive concoction until age five, when I was slowly weaned off of the stuff.

This explains my preference for drugs, especially psychedelics. I spent the years between my infancy and my first pot experiences wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. Why was my vision of the world so markedly different from that of my family and friends? What made me such a freak? What could fill the void, and explain the mysteries of nature to me in a way that I could truly understand?

My first acid trip was at age nineteen, and the remarkable thing about it was how familiar it all seemed, like I'd done it before. A warm feeling of deja vu overcame me, and I was not afraid of the hallucinations that manifested themselves to me during my trip. It was as if I'd been waiting my whole life to interpret these symbols, to divine their meanings.

Lately I've been smoking more pot than normal. This is due to working with the likes of Purple Paulie, who is an enthusiast. Today, when I get off of work, I'm going to see what happens if I cut down on my intake.

It's been over a decade since I first tried pot, and the conclusions I've reached are far from extraordinary.

1. Pot is good for the appetite.

2. Pot is good for making you sleep.

3. Pot is great for cases of nerves.

4. Pot temporarily fixes a broken heart.

5. Pot sometimes eases a stressed-out soul.

I like smoking pot. I like the sensation of my mind flooding with a whirlpool eddy of ideas, sparkling ripples of thought swirling incessantly, rootless and active. I like the euphoria, the childish smile that is carved out on my face when I am high.

I don't drink. I don't shoot hard drugs into my veins. I hate "uppers" like speed. I have allowed cocaine here and there, but marijuana is my first and only love. I haven't dropped 'cid in almost ten years, but I still occasionally eat 'shrooms and take some potent E, although with the latter I only indulge once in a blue moon.

Do I embrace the marijuana high as an escape? No, I don't think pot is a very good drug if escape is what you seek. Heroin seems to me like the true escape drug. I have smoked opium but never shot smoked or snorted heroin, and I figure it's just as well, because I think I could really get to liking that shit.

Do I embrace marijuana to cope with my mental scars? Sure, why not? I mean, I don't smoke every time I dwell on my fucked-up-ness, but maybe I should. Would it kill me to use pot as therapy? I already use writing as therapy, so I guess while it wouldn't kill me, it also wouldn't really help me all that much. I get better results from being stone cold sober in front of a typewriter or a keyboard.

What is it about the marijuana high that comforts me? The insularity of the high is an attractive quality. I feel 'safe' when I am high off weed. I feel secure, like I don't give a fuck... if I already see through people when I'm clean, then being high makes me feel like everyone is opaque. I am more attuned to searching someone else's soul, my eyes scan more intensely, I make better deductions when my logical brain half is stunted and my intuition is allowed free reign.

Smoking pot puts me in touch with my instincts, the ones that get buried by societal norms, the ones that people tend to cover up for fear of being seen as a weirdo or, worse, an artist!

Smoking pot doesn't make me a better person, not by a long shot. But it does help me keep my priorities straight. It keeps me humble, keeps me in sync with the rest of the universe, keeps my path solid and my steps stable.

I approach it sometimes with religious fervor, and sometimes I just smoke absent-mindedly, forgetting that only fifteen minutes earlier I had toked a bowl and cannot get any higher than I already am.

Judging from my dedication to the herb, you'd think that I worship Ja. I should convert to Rastafarianism, that seems like a train off thought I could subscribe to. Haille Selassie a prophet? Okay. Sure. Whatever you say... now pass the dutchie.

Whatever the reasons I have for my drug use/abuse, I think that I keep it in check. I don't allow my indulgences in pot mark who I am as a person. My image is that of a normal Joe, who doesn't stand out, who sort of blends into the scenery. This is a far more subversive tack to take, because it allows me access to people and situations that I would be denied if I styled my hair with dreadlocks and wore tie-dye tees.

When people find out that I am a stoner, they are surprised. Even more surprising to them is when they discover that I'm high at that moment, as they are speaking with me. I hide it well, because of my natural predisposition to come off as if I know something that you don't know. I am the Keeper of Secrets in the eyes of many, and what's satisfying to me personally is that I have no secrets to keep-- it's all an open book waiting to be written down.

Pot won't kill me. I'll die from cigarette-related causes way before I ever come down with anything as a result of doobie-snacking. I am resigned to possibly getting cancer-- I don't look forward to it, but I am resigned to it anyway. I am also more likely to develop diabetes than I am to develop any kind of pot-related malady.

I figure that I'll probably smoke pot until I get tired of it, and even then I'll probably just switch to eating it instead of smoking it. I could learn some recipes. I already have this quick recipe for pot hors d'oevres Tim Leary style: take a bud, place it on a small island of cheese and stack it atop a Ritz cracker; microwave for ten seconds; then eat. It's chewy, tasty, and gets you mad high.

Come 4:20 AM, I will be smoking a bowl in my car, waiting for the shift to pass uneventfully. Then, when eight hours have run through my life effortlessly, my weekend begins.

And I will see you next week. Take care.