Reawakening after a Week in a Marijuana Induced Conscious Coma

I am committed to returning to my daily activities in a sober state of mind, the only state of mind that I can successfully manage my responsibilities, multitask, and fully function. I have come back into my little haven of my world with new ideas, new perspectives, a reenergized drive for coming to some kind of existence that I am proud of rather than my status of just passing through days and having nothing to show for all of my thirty six years. The marijuana can  take you outside of yourself, to show you yourself, to cross boundaries of consciousness, to break up the stagnations that one falls into from time to time, but it has its costs, and will steal large parts of your life if you don't have some control over it. My symbolic death is over for some time. Now I begin my symbolic life. Currently am finishing my essay due today for "Intro to Religious Studies", have to start hustling on my book report on "Curious Incident of the Dog in Night Time" for "Literary Interpretation" due by the end of this week, another essay due by midnight Sunday for "Mythology and Modern Life", and I have various essays due for my "Educational Planning" class I have been putting off. I am also preoccupied with the need to work on my book also. I expect to see a seasonal job that I have worked for in the past hiring again in the paper in the next few weeks. Have to hustle on my assignments and get as much done as I can before I lose forty hours of my life again. You can't escape paying your dues in this life.

My Science to the Means to my Structure of Current Writing Style- 02-25-11

I ingest preferred intoxicant after a day of intense concentration on my college work, long enough to where I get beyond antsy for the preferred intoxicant. I dog walk, not for too long, just to get the blood flowing, but not the hounds on the scent. I record what I think are relatively important ideas in the most succinct nugget of a compact idea, but in whose compactness does not reduce the idea to immobility, it still retains its potential. I come home and work at the task of organizing all of these ideas into their natural groupings determined by the intoxicated/sober, or sober, or sober/sober/sober pattern making ability of the brainstem. I cut and paste, type, cut and paste, type, type, type, type, type, type, cut and paste, etc. I am constantly aware of some form of time coming to an end. The awakenings arise to me, of ideas of some famous men, the terrifying accuracy of Nostradamus, constant reminders of St. John’s Book of Revelations who many would name if they had to come up with a book from the bible, and the recorders of my master, the Lord Jesus Christ, I must accept the blood of Jesus in this book, even if it is only to go to the same afterlife as the people that I know will go to, and other writers who remind us of the coming cataclysms, of some form of idea to attach to the words that combine to mean the “end of the world”. My current style.

An Incomplete Meditation on the Grail of Marijuana- 02-24-11

Today I am empty of ideas that start to percolate on the drive home from the evenings at the girlfriends house to my grandmother apartment where I store my stuff, do my school work, hang out with my preoccupations, keep an eye on the low lifes at my grandmothers apartment, where I can more easily maintain my dreams of stardom in this hell of stagnation, of watching the welfare people, the disabled people, the poor people, the very class of people that I have found myself in all of my life, wanting to run away, having no clue where to go or how to go about it, so I shrank within myself, the only part of myself that I put my energies into increasing was my gut. Perhaps it is because I am hung over, I smoked too much weed last night. The girlfriend worked a night last night, I was left to my own devices.

To a lot of people the use of marijuana is a negative thing, something similar to crack or methamphetamines, the terrible drugs that make a person sell their body, steal from their family members, to become caught in the false rapture that the drug brings to your brain stem.

Marijuana, to me anyway, serves a different purpose other than trying to blot out the outer world so that I can entertain the feelings and sensations of my inner world. In fact it serves several, healthy purposes. The first and most pervading sensation I get from the marijuana, is being able to enjoy a heightened sense of my masculinity. Enjoying this sensation gives me a standard to live by when I am sober, it awakens in me a consciousness to be more masculine, that the estrogen demands its presence and development, even if it doesn’t necessarily search for it in me. It is a way of wanting to be perceived, of improving my role in the interplays of life that come and go, and especially those that remain. Are our friends, our family, the people around us measures of ourselves, of who we are, what we are limited to, what our potential is, the type of person that we naturally attract or repel, our standards, our limitations, our ideals, our prison?

Marijuana teases out those things that live in your unconscious mind, it brings those primal drives and impulses to the forefront of our consciousness. How can you interact with people, to intergrate within groups, when you are preoccupied with your weight, your looks, your socioeconomic status, your lack of sexual adventure? Weed brings this to the forefront of one’s consciousness, weed is a tool for psychoanalysis. Under the influence I can go out in the world and watch my self act out my own personal value system, of how I meet desires and impulses, what kind of moralities I use to deny myself, to watch others trying to be varieties of energies, watching the new crops and the old crops of people stagger through the motions of going through days lost in the mental dreams that keep them from going over the edge into homicide or suicide.

Marijuana is a thermogenic, a metabolism booster, an easy way to lose weight. Plenty of people spend money on cigarettes for the same effect when marijuana I believe is so much more cheaper. It is discipline one needs though not to overuse, to suck down more than what the body needs to maintain the high. I was so high last night that my eyeballs were as red as werewolf, everyone who saw me must have known. Let it remind you that I am as human, or more so than you are, my soul as dark, my drives just as ravenous, my desperation to suck as much joy and peace out of this life as possible before I die is just as strong, or stronger than yours. I don’t mean harm, unless you are an asshole. But even then, I realize I can be a far worse asshole, and plenty of times in my life I have judged others just to have my superficiality overtly displayed for that social group to see.

Marijuana fills my voids. When a person grows up outside of the natural, nuclear structure of the family, without role models to give a person a solid spectrum of what is or is not acceptable behavior, when there is no voice of reason to answer your voices of emotion, if there is no functioning people to give you an inner sense of direction in this life than the world becomes blind experimentation for what essentially becomes a collection of urges. I was raised like an animal, like a pet. my physical needs were met, food, clothing, shelter, the base standards of living that the government requires, but nothing more. I became abandoned by both my mother and father, coming to live with my maternal grandparents. My grandfather died shortly around the time of my years in Junior High. My mother came and went as her needs required. I was left with my vacant headed, irrational, uneducated, uncerebral grandmother. Essentially I spent my days alone in school, my nights with my toys, then my pursuit of misadventures between television and movies. A growing child neglected from teachings of how to make sense of this world, and abandoned to exploring the extents of his own devices will lead to disaster. I am my own family, my own role model, my own teacher, my own true love. It is what it is until it is no longer.

See you tomorrow.

My Mother's Car is Haunted- 02-23-11

I think my mother’s car is haunted. It does not like being opened on the driver’s side sometimes. My grandmother and I would then go around to the passenger side, stick the key in the lock, unlock it, now all the doors are open. Walk around to the driver’s side, get in, and take off, no further problems. The drivers side door only plays this game every once in a while. Since I am always concerned with wasting energy I choose to fight with the lock when it does this. I’d rather fight than make more steps than I have to. Maybe this says something about me? Last night outside of Wegmans Cicero the car decides to pick a fight again. I respond automatically from two dozen years of compacting madness. I try to turn the key. Nothing, won’t move. I stick it in again. Won’t work. I jab it in a third time, turn it toward the front of the car and it lets me, although turning it in that direction would only lock it. I try twisting it to the right, to the rear of the car. Won’t move. I thrust the key in again. I will do fucking battle with spirits, ghosts, poltergeists, demons, angels, whatever. “Mom, let me the fuck in this car, it’s too cold for this shit”, I utter. I turn the key to the right. The lock acquiesces. Now I can get in the car with no problems, just like I should have, just like it should be. Perhaps it is a sign to pause from time to time, look at yourself and your world, look at the vehicle of life and ask yourself if you are happy. And if not, why not? Don’t you like where life has brought you? Where do you see yourself going? How are you trying to get there? I get in the car and take off to go to my girlfriends house and on the way the light of the radio blinks with some kind of intelligent timing, with a noticible intensity that is almost frightening. I would be afraid of ghosts if I believed that they could actually harm me but in my life the only enemy that I’ve ever had to fear was myself. Although ghosts can not kill you, they might be able to lead you to your death. I note the blinking of the radio, tell myself its some kind of loose electrical connection, ignore it to pay attention to traffic, and the backlight to the digital symbols goes dark, resentful that I don’t get the message it is trying get across. The radio stays dark for the few minutes it takes me to get to the girlfriends driveway. I consciously think of my mother’s car as her sarcophagus with some part of her remaining as we do in the place that we haunt in life, the places where we spend the most time, investing our physical, mental, and spiritual energies. I wonder what my mother thought driving around in her 1998 Toyota Camry LE. “Hope this car doesn’t break down, I’ll have to rely on my drunk and drug addict friends, can’t rely on my son whose only ambition in life was to drive around Central New York all day, smoking pot, getting into trouble, and unbeknownst to me, come to live with me when his grandmother has used up all of her earthly energies, a parasitical deadbeat parasite that I would have been unable to get rid of, unless he got arrested again, which is highly probable”.  I wonder if my mother in her driving ever felt the urges that I do, to talk to myself, sometimes soothing, sometimes quite harshly, yell invented stupidities at other distracted drivers, sing, sometimes sarcastically, sometimes seriously, other times mournfully, screaming the things that I can’t say in real life, the inner narration that festers but can’t ever be mentioned to the people it is directed at, telling myself jokes and barking out loud when they’re funny, endlessly trying to improve my comedic hits to misses and strike outs, relating my inner world into my voice recorder for later transcription, praying that some hidden cop isn’t thinking I’m talking on a cell phone, who will pull me over and to get out of a ticket I will play for him the spillage of insanity that is going unnoticed by most people, that I hope to work into a story line or decorate some narration with it, but whose meaning will be lost on the cop, then will he notice the aroma of illegal vegetation, now I’ve got tickets for distracted driving, driving while under the influence, other various things. Done for today, see you tomorrow.