If more people read this shit, I'd say something about my doing time or getting my left leg amputated in Zimbabwe or my 65 day standoff with the Cochise County Sheriffs that ended it a bloodbath but I escaped to my mountainous lair where all my friends were hanging, waiting, engulfed in a fog of dopesmoke and natural jacuzzi steam...
But none of that happened just yet, I mean the weed part more or less, but nothing so sensational. There have been some life and death situations and some domestic travel that involved pool games with Navajo war veterans and I.E. pit bulls in the back of a '92 Dodge Ram van. Primetime. But for the most part it's been some slow time, some lack of productivity. I'm trying to change this.
The world keeps losing its goddamn mind, I keep climbing beanstalks trying to get a better view but end up climbing higher and higher until I forget about it all. But shit always creeps up, pursues and pulls me down. I only want to be that high on weekends, Sundays in particular, Isley Brothers, Swishers, a real special occasion. There is a kind of high where I can still see, and then get all the work done. Before it's too late.
I say all this and I'll probably go roll one up right now and listen to this Curren$y album all day. Smoke myself blind again. The sun is shining in winter time, I can't let all the negative land mines get to me today. I've been hanging out with this dog. He's so chill, he sleeps through gun shots and firecrackers. This is a good thing.
Keep it rolling. I couldn't think of anywhere else to be or any other way to feel. This is the extent of my reporting on this fine line Thursday afternoon.
Look 'ma I'm a fucking journalist!
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