The long, long voyage
MARIJUANA!
As far as I can tell, that is the proper spelling of the word. All capital letters, with an exclamation mark, just like it's pronounced. I've seen that some people prefer to pronounce it as a normal word - however, I have never heard a single stoned person refer to it with anything less than the most extreme emphasis. So in this piece, which concerns my personal experiences with the drug (my opinions on the political debate are for another column), I will use the more dynamic of the two alternate spellings.
I have trouble seeing MARIJUANA! as a social activity (partially because its effects leave me rather unsociable, for reasons I will soon explain). No, I prefer to approach it as an expiriment, to be used only when someone is feeling especially experimental. I've always considered myself an "explorer" (i.e. someone who gets a big kick out of seeing as much of the world as possible, and learning as much as I can before I eventually die), but not until two years ago had I ever felt a need to scope out the very large field of mind alteration. I had always assumed that pot and alcohol would do little aside from limit the mindpower of the user, turning him or her into a much more intellectually limited person. But in a moment of spontanaety, I decided to join some of my friends for what I believe is called the smoking of a bowl. And five minutes after my first hit, I realized...
...that I had been completely correct. Pot turned me into an idiot - and not just any idiot, a hyperactive child. I became myself age 5 - obsessed with drawing, wandering around in a haze, and rolling around on the couch and floor when I grew tired of jumping about. In retrospect, it was a bit embarrasing - and I am extremely glad that the only people present were my closest friends. Of course, my embarrasment did not stop me from repeating the procedure on several later dates - I was anxious to see if, as some people claim, the effects would lessen with each use.
They most certainly did not - and in fact, the second and third times yielded even more serious reactions. I loudly sang "The Long Voyage" (a favorite song of mine by Hector Zazou featuring Suzanne Vega and John Cale), interspercing the actual lyrics with shouts of "a fucking VOYAGE! A VOYAGE!" I slid around on the floor, walking along the base of the walls as if they were ground. I claimed to be my friend's cat and violently headbutted people. It's not that the drug is what brought out this behaviour, it's just what made it impossible for me to tell myself "no, that is probably a bad idea." What's even more amazing is that the effects lasted well into the next day. Our morning trip to the beach was punctuated with demented squeals as I bodysurfed - and of course, repeated questions about whether or not my friends had heard about the voyage. It's kind of as if I became a different person with the same memories, yet with none of the self-control or intelligence that I am actually proud of.
But as regressive and shameful as my stoned self is, I have learned quite a bit from him. No, the inner workings of the universe did not reveal themselves before my eyes (as the hippie cliche goes), and in fact the experience didn't really give me any answers at all. But it raised new questions, which is in some ways more important. For instance, whatever might have been on my mind the first timed I smoked couldn't have been more important than the question of identity which has been on my mind since. Am I in fact the well-adjusted, easygoing, and intelligent person that I think I am? Or is the spastic lunatic which reveals himself minutes after intake the real me, who I've forcibly covered up to create the illusion of sophistication? Am I too pretentious for my own good, as my overelaborate wording in this essay is leading me to believe? Or am I, as I insisted multiple times the last time I used the drug, a moose?
Who knows. I may smoke MARIJUANA! again before I die, or I may not. It is defenitely a fun thing to do on occasion - but now that those questions have been asked, it seems counterproductive to bring them up again. I'm not going to make any progress if my mind isn't at it's best, and if I don't make progress than I'm going to stagnate. That I would rather not do, because this is a voyage. A long, long fucking voyage.
As far as I can tell, that is the proper spelling of the word. All capital letters, with an exclamation mark, just like it's pronounced. I've seen that some people prefer to pronounce it as a normal word - however, I have never heard a single stoned person refer to it with anything less than the most extreme emphasis. So in this piece, which concerns my personal experiences with the drug (my opinions on the political debate are for another column), I will use the more dynamic of the two alternate spellings.
I have trouble seeing MARIJUANA! as a social activity (partially because its effects leave me rather unsociable, for reasons I will soon explain). No, I prefer to approach it as an expiriment, to be used only when someone is feeling especially experimental. I've always considered myself an "explorer" (i.e. someone who gets a big kick out of seeing as much of the world as possible, and learning as much as I can before I eventually die), but not until two years ago had I ever felt a need to scope out the very large field of mind alteration. I had always assumed that pot and alcohol would do little aside from limit the mindpower of the user, turning him or her into a much more intellectually limited person. But in a moment of spontanaety, I decided to join some of my friends for what I believe is called the smoking of a bowl. And five minutes after my first hit, I realized...
...that I had been completely correct. Pot turned me into an idiot - and not just any idiot, a hyperactive child. I became myself age 5 - obsessed with drawing, wandering around in a haze, and rolling around on the couch and floor when I grew tired of jumping about. In retrospect, it was a bit embarrasing - and I am extremely glad that the only people present were my closest friends. Of course, my embarrasment did not stop me from repeating the procedure on several later dates - I was anxious to see if, as some people claim, the effects would lessen with each use.
They most certainly did not - and in fact, the second and third times yielded even more serious reactions. I loudly sang "The Long Voyage" (a favorite song of mine by Hector Zazou featuring Suzanne Vega and John Cale), interspercing the actual lyrics with shouts of "a fucking VOYAGE! A VOYAGE!" I slid around on the floor, walking along the base of the walls as if they were ground. I claimed to be my friend's cat and violently headbutted people. It's not that the drug is what brought out this behaviour, it's just what made it impossible for me to tell myself "no, that is probably a bad idea." What's even more amazing is that the effects lasted well into the next day. Our morning trip to the beach was punctuated with demented squeals as I bodysurfed - and of course, repeated questions about whether or not my friends had heard about the voyage. It's kind of as if I became a different person with the same memories, yet with none of the self-control or intelligence that I am actually proud of.
But as regressive and shameful as my stoned self is, I have learned quite a bit from him. No, the inner workings of the universe did not reveal themselves before my eyes (as the hippie cliche goes), and in fact the experience didn't really give me any answers at all. But it raised new questions, which is in some ways more important. For instance, whatever might have been on my mind the first timed I smoked couldn't have been more important than the question of identity which has been on my mind since. Am I in fact the well-adjusted, easygoing, and intelligent person that I think I am? Or is the spastic lunatic which reveals himself minutes after intake the real me, who I've forcibly covered up to create the illusion of sophistication? Am I too pretentious for my own good, as my overelaborate wording in this essay is leading me to believe? Or am I, as I insisted multiple times the last time I used the drug, a moose?
Who knows. I may smoke MARIJUANA! again before I die, or I may not. It is defenitely a fun thing to do on occasion - but now that those questions have been asked, it seems counterproductive to bring them up again. I'm not going to make any progress if my mind isn't at it's best, and if I don't make progress than I'm going to stagnate. That I would rather not do, because this is a voyage. A long, long fucking voyage.
posted by BG | 12:40 AM
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