I can’t smoke right now or until further notice because I am a God-freak who hears the actual Voice of The Lord, mostly when I’m high. The last time I heard, “Enough already!” was as I raced down the BQE leaving Queens headed towards the Williamsburg because I was too cheap to pay the toll at the Triborough. The particulars of this might be a bit too New York for some people, but the logic of it shouldn’t be.
I had to quit cigarettes again too, even though I deluded myself into thinking that it wasn’t a biggie that I was smoking again ’cause they weren’t 100s. Hell, they weren’t even really cigarettes, they were them black joints that the young white cat pulled my coat to and he was right: they are smooth and they do crackle.
And you do everything in a rush, though. Or slow. Whatever the pace, you stick to it. It’s not a sloppiness at all like with alcohol. And there’s no feeling of being conned like with the prescription stuff. It’s the place you’ve been looking for in your own mind that you couldn’t find sober. All of a sudden, it’s RIGHT THERE for you the moment that you inhale.
And I’m stone sober now!
But let’s be honest, we think weed is a bad thing because it’s illegal, never mind that slavery was once very legal, never mind that it’s illegal NOT to wear a seat belt, never mind cigarettes—which are much worse—are legal and alcohol—which is much worse—is legal.
What is legal is some company making up stuff to put in a pill to give you that you don’t need but your doctor will prescribe so that company will pay him or her. And we take the pill and we don’t feel better and we wish we had a blunt but we can’t cause its illegal.