happy 420 to some of you. if i were still in my old phase, seeing the world through these slow watery eyes would have been an understatement. i would have probably chilled with my friend over at an annual event up in davis or in an amsterdam-type atmosphere anywhere over an hour ago. a former roommate probably wouldn’t care about the event since he smokes trees everyday. the word ‘brownies’ would have been a part of the circle’s vocabulary in every conversation. i would have had fastfood dollar menu cravings laid all over the table over cheech and chong-type movies. ‘twomp’ and ‘dimesack’ would never have left a friend’s glove compartment along with the reds. the subwoofer beats wouldn’t have been more amplified throughout the muffled hotbox interior. i would have been laughing at every movie scene on my couch no matter how normal the setting was. every dialogue would have started and ended with ‘what? whaaatt?’ pause ‘what?’
remembered a conversation with a former co-worker. her younger brother, who still lived with her, always came back home late at night. the morning after she noticed the fridge ‘s contents looked like they have been taken up by a storm. another one commented that he must have had those nightly munchies. mmmhmm.
‘i smoke two joints in the morning, i smoke two joints at night…’ sublime’s song came out playing at an acquaintance’s newark housewarming while some rastafari band members sang to the classic tune. the band session was over so the electric guitars, drums, and bass were put aside for another chilly acoustic evening. food was still everywhere, but the garage looked like one was driving through the foggy streets of daly city. ‘toke a big spliff of some good sensimillia…’
‘yeah, i feel like there’s something burning in my throat or esophagus or whatever.’ km was trippin about his hit. he must have inhaled the cherry right into his system. ‘yeah, s’all good. i gotz you in dis joint, g,’ bg assured the first time was a good memory for this foo. the only thing left is for a neighbor to call the fire department about the mysterious smoke coming out of my friend’s basement.
my friday party nights ocassionally moved me to the smaller streets of university ave. through the quiet neighborhood, i continued more volunteer work with a synergy of culturally dedicated peoples. a non-profit organization was promoting cultural and environmental awareness through different cultures in art, music, and dance. the newly renovated north berkeley place housed individuals coming from leagues of literature, education, and different studies. hours after and it was midnight, the house across the street became another relaxing evening of booze and j’s. ended up driving back to the beats of marley and drum music at almost 3am. through the bay bridge on a breezy 50mph and with lesser cars, i searched for a five-o hidden through the darkness of treasure island’s exit.
but that was then. today was just another…. clean… blessed day. i need my brain for long-term purposes. i respect y’all’s stand, nevertheless. it’s not like bluntman or weedman never opened my mind to the nominally acclaimed ‘make love, not war’ slogans of the 70’s. homee who still tokes left me a voice message about the event. happy 420 to some of you anyway.