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I walked into the bathroom, stoned like Gibraltar (or Mary Magdalene) and saw what I can only describe as a brown demon peering at me from inside the toilet. It was a definite spooker if you ask me, but I'd seen demons before, if you know what I mean. The solution was two-fold. First, not finding George C. Scott or a suitable exorcist nearby, I did the next best thing and flushed the john; second, I took the piss I walked into the bathroom for and flushed the john again.
My father would have said, "Son, you have to clean up."
He wasn't talking about Lysol, or restocking the toilet paper. His solution is worded like, "Convert to Christianity and flush your friend's herbal pot down the porcelain one." This would result -- as train of thought dictates -- in my first experience of being persecuted for the faith.
Holy writ is riddled with condemnation for intoxication of any kind. Harsh words against getting sloshed are so plentiful and obvious that even a one-eyed inebriant should be able to spot a few references on a drunken thumb-through. Prohibitive and condemnatory statements against elbow tipping and booze bibbing are just as severe as they are plentiful. Those that don't bugger your gray matter usually run afoul of the point: sobriety. I've hit so many tokes, eaten so many blotters, that I'm slowly losing the person I was before the fall. Do I remember what it was like to be undeniably clear-headed? I can't tell the difference anymore. It often feels like I make better decisions while the world spins around me.
Drugs do funny things to your mind -- why else do you think folks drop acid, snort lines and tap veins? It sure isn't to feel normal. If so, it's an extremely expensive way to feel as lame as you did five minutes before toking that bong. The whole point of drugs is that they tweak your perceptions -- effectively, and with more reliability than just depriving yourself of sleep and water.
Drugs can make you feel euphoric (Pot), jazzed (Amphetamines), invincible (PCP), mellow (Heroin) or like Aristotle (LSD). To restate the obvious, much like Dumbo's visions of dancing pink elephants, drugs make you hallucinate. Someone I know who suffers the odd LSD trip sees walls bend around her. Another girl I know, doped on morphine, saw large ants the size of 1950s B-movie horror flick monsters marching around her room, all while sitting like a a blob of jelly on her couch. Last week, I saw one of my best friends act like he was The Thing, while attempting to dance around the room (like The Thing) to a fairly eclectic play list of Infected Mushroom and the String Cheese Incident.
You get the drift.
God doesn't give a hoot how a person gets tweaked -- be it crank, beer, wine, paint thinner, bourbon, crack, ganja or glue. He doesn't care if a person is just nursing a gentle buzz or getting flat-out fit-shaced. If two tokes of that bong put you past sobriety (nepho from my English-to-Greek dictionary!), that is one toke over the line. It's too bad for God, then, that drugs also make you not give a flying shit. Or a floating one (like my toilet demon-turd).
Seven-forty a weekday morn,
purple pot in blow-glass bong,
cheap vodka, peach-apple schnapps,
lime water; mix well and watch closely;
things often forget to collapse,
as the world brightens quietly. |
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