The mild discourse amongst the smoke settled into a hazy nothingness until every one of us was completely blazed out of our minds. I arched my spine until my eyes were thus fixed upon the black sky and lack of starlight and thought about my rock n’ roll princess—my hippie goddess— who, by meaningful reasoning, wanting nothing to do with this human embodiment which I inhabit. Sounds of the neighborhood were amplified as they reverberated through my skull: psychotic dogs howling, an ambulance afar, a buzz saw across the street, etc… I made notice of the smallest pin drop to my left, and I contemplated its very existence. I thought only of her without knowing who she was. I had befriended each one of her acquaintances, yet I continue to stumble at every glimpse of her face. The constant paranoia given to me from my friend, Cannabis, did not seem to help my mind’s ailment.
Within a broken circle of lawn chairs and superficial banter, I sat quietly in observation. My brain mass had been stricken numb, clear of all human emotion and instinct. Each of my “friends” seemed to become the very subject of satire for all the social castes our youth had created, some of them more delusional then others. I had no delusions, for I had no thoughts.
A girl with morphine strolling through her veins lay shivering in the humid spring air. A best friend sits in his lounge chair laughing with sheer enjoyment (and utter stupidity); his date sits sober becoming quite turned off by his presence. A jujitsu student shows off his seemingly keen, but retarded intellect on yin and yang philosophy. A weasel-like boy walks around, asking to bum off shake from anyone who will spare it.
The drive home was pleasant, though the THC seemed to bring more notice of police in the area. Of course, it was 11:00 p.m.—shift change. The mask of approval was not worn by the voice inside my head. Walking inside my home, I was easily able to identify my sleepwalking mother awaiting my late arrival. Conscious of my potent aroma, I quickly slipped by her and stumbled into my room, stripping down to my boxers, and spraying my body with deodorant. A chronic insomnia led my mind to avoid sleep only to contemplate the very state of my mind. Questions arose from this meditative trance: “Who am I?” “What’s my purpose?” Sleep took over my body as I lay disrespecting my own person.
The morning was brought to my attention by a paranoid mother, hasted by the pressures of pleasing a family on Easter Sunday morning. I arose to the sweet taste of chocolate eggs and finely flavored assortments. Band practice was approaching, and my left-brain was in the mood for one substance that could assuredly boost my taste for sound. I gave it my attention and shared it with fellow musicians who were ready to hammer the fuck out of their instruments in hard grunge brutality. With this, I raised my piece and quietly breathed, “Happy Easter gentlemen….happy Easter.”
Created: Feb 02, 2010Document Media