Welcome to F.C. Irish's Flight Log

Feel free to comment, discuss, add, or challenge anything on this blog. The idea of the Flight Log is to find our common culture amidst the regional differences. I'm looking for a clear understanding, and everything I write is meant to facilitate discussion toward that goal. Enjoy.

31 December 2011


SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2011                                             3:19AM E.S.T.
PILOT F. Irish S/A
EQUIPMENT General Wayne

     My thanks to J. Rags for hitting me up and calling me a pussy. It was aggravating trying to explain what a muse is, and he couldn't grip it due to the lack of scope I had provided, so he just called me a pussy. Anyway, it has been difficult to write recently. The entries lack the spark that I try to instill in my writing, that little flame that ignites a fire. Amazing how integrated our lives can be, if we choose to allow it. But, time to hit this packed bowl.


     So, I smoked a total of nineteen times on Thursday... from the time I woke up, until midnight, I smoked nineteen fucking times. And not once did I lose any function. This is both amazing and alarming. Amazing in the sense that after hot boxing a car with two simultaneous blunts, I was able to drive to hang with the band and proceed to smoke a bong and seven bowls (Mind you the circle was large, so there was an average of four hits a bowl per person). Alarming in the sense that I never got TOO high. I was debating whether or not you can voluntarily be a burn out, but I was unable to accomplish said feat. I couldn't do it, and I was trying.

29 December 2011

Late Night Clean Out

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2011                                            3:57AM E.S.T.
PILOT F. Irish S/A
EQUIPMENT Commodore Barry, General Wayne

     I detest night/mornings like this one. I have not slept, nor do I have the intention of sleeping. I've been looking for a second job for most of the evening, one that would allow me to continue to smoke weed. The most I can come up with is trying to get the Log published... Which, at this moment, seems an insurmountable task.

HIT! (Commodore Barry has a blend of Purple Haze and Afghan Goo)

You see, though I use marijuana to inspire me to write, etc., it really takes a muse to make me work. Someone who I feel like I'm writing for. Sure, with this CyberLog, people are reading what I'm saying, but for the sake of the actual Flight Log, the paper and ink creation that has been boiling from inside of me since September 18th, I have no one who reads it. There are entries, more than one a day for the most part, that remain hidden from your eyes. It has been near two months since Beth has even read a single page. In real life, life outside of the internet, I have not a single muse to inspire such elegant writing as that which graces the first month or so of the Log.

27 December 2011

Use It or Lose It

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 27, 2011                                             9:36 P.M. E.S.T.
PILOT F. Irish S/A
EQUIPMENT General Sherman

     It is alarming that I have forgotten how to roll a joint. For the majority of my time since returning to the Commonwealth, I have been smoking bowls, and blunts rolled by a Master Roller I know. Now, when the time comes that I wish to go on a long distance burn cruise, and I cannot get a hold of my friend, I come to find that I have the utmost difficulty in rolling a joint. It used to be a habit to roll them while I was in college, especially since we, for the most part, surfed. Roll one up, put it in a watertight bag, and go surfing. after a few waves, drift and burn. I just can't believe I am struggling so damn much. So, it appears bowls are on the horizon for this burn cruise. A solo one it appears.

20 December 2011


TUESDAY, DECEMBER 20, 2011                                              9:15 P.M. E.S.T.

     Just getting to my first smoke of the day...which blows my mind. I have to be careful as to how open I am with my smoking around my parents. My mom knows I smoke, but always gives me shit about it, my dad doesn't let on that he knows that I smoke, if he does at all. The problem is that both see it as a 'drug' instead of medicine. They think I'm out to get high and be stupid, when I'm really trying to cope with psychological issues while being a productive individual. If I didn't smoke pot, I'd have failed outta college working some job that I was forced to work. I work on a farm and love it. Honestly, recent college graduates especially, you may think you are too good for a job because you are over qualified, or have a predetermined idea of what you want to do with your life, but try something before you judge it. I never saw myself working on a farm, enjoying country music, and being single after I graduated college. I figured I'd either be A) In the military with an officer's commission on voluntary front line duty [Needs to be clarified, I was naive when that was my ultimate goal. I respect and admire the veterans of our country as it has been my pleasure to both work and remain close friends with vets from almost all the wars in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. If the military didn't have some view that marijuana was evil and allowed its use I would be at the recruiter tomorrow, just based upon idealism.]; B) Working at a museum, and researching personal histories; or C) Teaching history in middle or high school, wherever my ex was located at the time.
     Now? I work on a horse farm, where I look forward to going to work, at any time. Seriously, 24/7. Its awesome. I listen to country music as well, which I would have found appalling only a year and a half ago. Some of it sounds like the hokey pokey shit you think of when you think country, the whole "I left my boots in the bed of my truck, my dog blue was riding shotgun, and my ole gal, well I gotta tell, took off and left me here..." (Face it, a lot of country songs were just summed up in that one line) Now, I don't think they are all like that. A lot of the music is patriotic (talking about the Confederacy is not a patriotic thing), or tell stories that not only flow melodically, but have some sort of lesson. As for being single, I was hopelessly in love with someone at the time, with starry eyed visions of settling down and living with that person. But, truth conquers all, regardless of how it comes to light. The truth changes shit in ways you never expect, and just within the space of this last year, my life has changed greatly. But on that note, I'm off. I need a shower.

19 December 2011


MONDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2011                                                                                  2:33AM E.S.T.
PILOT F. Irish S/A
EQUIPMENT General Wayne

      This is extremely weird for me to conduct an entry without writing it with my pen, on an actual piece of paper... but hey, gotta keep up with the times I suppose. Damn times, always changing. So, hehehe, let's figure out how to mark a...
I think the different color thing works, especially since it is as close to how I actually mark it in the Log itself. I'm going to fill yous in on exactly what I've been doing for three months, and how this blogspot plays into the scheme of things. 

     The FLIGHT LOG is a daily journal I keep, in which all of the writing and drawing are completed while high, unless otherwise noted. I use a Waterman Fountain Pen, writing on college ruled loose paper, in a rugged binder, wherever I may be sitting at the time. I find that my ideas can flow from my head to the paper through the pen more easily than if I were sitting with a laptop struggling to find the right lighting so that I can read what I'm typing while also limiting myself to where there is an outlet to keep my computer powered. I find inspiration in the outdoors...I've written five or ten page entries while sitting atop a boulder, or dangling m

10 November 2011

My Introduction

            I am a lot of things; I’m a college graduate, a working member of society, a member of an amazing family, friend to astonishingly diverse people, an afraid artist, lost writer, outdoorsman, handy man, lover, and stoner. First and foremost, I am me. I am Frank Christian Irish. At the time of this undertaking, I am a 23 year old farm hand with a degree that is not being used. Instead of struggling to find a job in my field, I started working on a horse boarding farm, working my body to its limits in every type of weather conceivable, and I’m happy. In my spare time, I draw comics, help out my friends and family, hangout with my grandfather, and write. Like most Americans my age, I am trying to find my place in life while drifting through the social currents and stresses that accompany my situation. And, as I at this very second understand it, like most Americans my age, I’ve smoked marijuana. I was in college, drunk, curious, and able to do it, so I did it. I wasn’t pressured to do it, and it wasn’t something I had been around. During high school, I made it a point to stay away from it, was downright opposed to even hanging with people who did. That was just the way I was raised, believing that pot was evil and something that made you as dumb as a doornail. I was indoctrinated in what society viewed as a proper stance on a mislabeled substance.