A Thing Of Wonder

General Benedict Arnold

Entry 1

Today, as has oft happened this fading year, a friend who I have not conversed with in many summers contacted me out of the blue. I will be the first to admit that I lag behind most of my acquaintances with respect to "keeping in touch". It is not that I don't think of them often, for those that crowd my memory will rise to the fore at they insistence of a melody or the similarities of an action, coming to life in my mind's eye. And though life has spirited us all to different corners of the country, I carry them with me.

Social media sites, and I speak primarily of Facebook, allow the world of today a large measure of interconnectivity. If you are curious about an old acquaintance you are able to look them up, read what has been happening in their lives, and comment on it. You can peruse multitudes of photographs, videos, events, and groups with ease as you relive the past that was recorded by friends. For more intimate conversations a personal message may be sent, and the discussion can begin with little or no difficulty. None of which is out of character, even becoming the rapidly approaching norm for this next iteration of societal values.

I keep my distance from Facebook voluntarily, saving myself from the depression that creeps in, be it from old phantoms captured in photographs or joyful posts that predate much more forlorn announcements. I confess that I do not read previous entries in my hardcopy journal for that exact reason. The extent of my interconnectivity is by Twitter, a drinking app, or by text. Beyond that, my world is a small place that consists of nearby friends, family, and primarily work. Too many phone numbers have been lost through the years, and with them the ability to communicate on a more traditional level.

But, it always amazes me when a voice heard only in memory graces my ear when they take the "off" chance of calling the number they have in their phones. Though they are in my thoughts, I can not, for the life of me, figure out why I am in theirs. Memories are recounted, names brought up, questions asked and answered as if no time elapsed since last we spoke. And seldom is the time afterward when I do not revel in the joy they have heaved upon my faltering spirit, for I look upon them in adulation.

I am a mere farm hand working a forgotten piece of nature, disconnected from the world that is constantly encroaching. Comparatively, they have done much better with their degrees than I have mine. In my case, loyalty and honor bind me as they always have. Two of my endearing traits yet also my greatest failings. And that statement is true in all aspects of my life, not just the realm of employment. To me, they have a life I wish I did, they took chances I wasn't savvy enough to take. They have done something with their lives, where I have attached my heart and soul to a specific place for better or worse.

I suspect my devaluation of self is responsible for the surprise that always accompanies "thinking of you". That someone who exists in a vast world with thousand of connections would even have the most fleeting of thoughts concerning a man of my caliber... I did not think myself capable of such an impact, or that my simple acts of kindness and camaraderie would be remembered through the years.

A few in particular have been the source of much amazement: A woman who caught me drawing cartoons in a particular college class, who I think of every time Date Rape comes on (It sounds terrible, which is why I don't bring it up on social media, but at the time it was her favorite song); A man who saved my sanity senior year, whose advice I still live by on certain habits; A Georgia Peach that took away my animosity toward the south; An anarchist that constantly joined me in inebriated discussion. Years have gone by and yet I still exist in their thoughts.

Tis a source of wonder to me.

Irish

Taking to myself.

GENERAL GLOVER
Entry 1

What you are about to read is a self-interview. I figure, it's been so long since the initial posts on this blog explaining everything, and with the ability to post said blog on Twitter, I should reintroduce myself. This just seemed like a good way of doing that. So without further ado...

Who are you?

I go by the pen name F.C. Irish. When you are talking, writing, and drawing the things that I do, the last thing you need is to have what you're presenting effect the people you care about. In order to protect these people from any repercussions that may come along due to association, I can't use my real name. It's just a precaution that I feel is necessary at this point. It is my life, my choices...

Describe yourself.

I would call myself average... 6 foot tall, toned muscles because I work on a farm, tan because I work outside, told I'm handsome but don't believe that. I'm college educated with a four year degree; history major with no declared minor. I took courses that I thought would help me in life: politics, writing, geography, and humanities. I smoke weed... It's kind of obvious, I think, if you were to read some of the posts and tweets. I smoke cigarettes, because I like smoking cigarettes and they go really well with all of the coffee I drink. An ungodly amount of coffee, everyday. I also spend a lot of time thinking, and because of the thinking, I spend a lot of time awake. Life's fun.

List 3 strengths/weaknesses.

Weaknesses first, cause my mom always says "if you are going to say something negative, say something positive". Depression is most definitely my biggest weakness, genetic by nature, so it's always been around. I guess my second weakness would be my inability, really a lack of desire, to keep up with the times and technology. I like that I can literally just sit here, and talk, and this phone that I just happen to be using is typing all of this for me. But I really miss my typewriter ( No, I'm not that old. ) and writing letters as a means of communication. My third weakness is also my first strength: an overactive imagination. For the sake of explaining it as a weakness; anytime that I am left wondering, my mind creates every single possible scenario. Spend the day doing something mindless, while you wonder about a relationship and how it's going... It's hell.
Strengths, obviously the overactive imagination first. Sometimes, I get lucky and writing for me is merely an exercise of describing the movie that I get to watch in my head. It's pretty awesome, especially some of the action scenes in my Reeferman stories. Strength number two, a thirst for knowledge. I like learning, and not necessarily in an academic manner cause that gets pretty boring, but in a real world sense of learning. Living life for what it's worth, through the good and the bad, for the experience of it. Don't take life for granted, it's a gift that you are supposed to enjoy. And finally, strength number three, ingenuity. I'm always trying to figure out how things work, how to improve them or how to redesign them to be something else, to be something better. Go back far enough in this blog and you will find a post about Behemoth, a solution to a common problem that opens up more possibilities. Makes me feel like I'm tooting my own horn.

What motivates you?

The idea that life will get better. You have to believe in something, at least that's what I think, so why not believe that you can improve upon where you're at in life? I have to believe that life will get better, and so I strive to achieve that.

List 3 hobbies.

Right now, my main hobby is writing. I don't make very much money at all writing, definitely not enough to live off of. So it's just a hobby right now. Building things would have to be my second hobby. It's very broad, I know, but I build a lot of random things. Sometimes its furniture, other times its a smoking device, farm equipment,... I build a lot of things. Reading would be my third hobby for only limiting it to three. I'm a voracious reader, history mostly, with comic books and the news thrown in. I like reading, it's a good hobby to have.

What makes you uncomfortable?

Unwanted physical contact. That makes me uncomfortable as hell. Back pain, in a physical sense, that makes me very uncomfortable a lot. Awkward silence in a two person conversation, that's uncomfortable. Being forced to give a complex answer to an intricate question within a three second time frame, very much so uncomfortable as well.

What is your dream job?

To be able to wake up in the morning and decide "well, I feel like doing this today so that's what I'm going to do". I guess you'd call it independently wealthy, right? Everybody's dream. And I consider it a job, because I'd still be working. I can't sit around and just do nothing, that drives me insane. If I had money? I would be able to take all of the hobbies that I have and actually turn them into something that will go somewhere. The furniture building, I could start actually making nice furniture instead of the rustic hodgepodge artwork that passes for a chair. I'd be able to take the Behemoths and mass produce them, make them available to anyone who would want one. I would be able to make rum! But if I have to narrow it down to one dream job, it would have to be writing. I have stories to tell and I think they'd be rather enjoyable.

I'm aware that these questions are very narrow in scope. I picked them, they serve a purpose of explaining some very basic things about me to help you know who I am. This blog has always been about discussion and the exploration of commonality. That being said, ask me a question and I'll answer you: @FCIrish51 or here on the flightlog.

A Mirror of Sorts

GENERAL MAXWELL
ENTRY 1

I've been working on the second Reeferman story for eight months now, and I've had a lot of trouble trying to invoke the emotions that the character needed. I wrote over twenty pages for a scene, lost control of the characters, and had to scrap it all because it wasn't working. Work on the story was frozen for a few months, with nothing coming to mind. And then, not too long ago, the spark was re-ignited. There was a reason to go on with the task, a motivation that came from outside.

I spent the time to read everything I had written, to reacquaint myself with Tom Overholt: the Green Coyote. I was reminded of his sense of humor, jovial when first we met then dark and cynical as he took his revenge. I relived the rage that had brought his vengeance to life, enjoyed the pleasure he felt at finishing his personal war on a cartel. And as I sat there, staring at four out of six needed scenes, I questioned what I needed to feel if I intended to finish my own task of a completed story.

The mind is a funny thing, and insomnia is a bitch. For a few weeks now I've been having bad dreams, for lack of a better word. Waking up in the middle of the night sucks, especially when you are waking someone else up in the process. It puts a strain on things. On top of it, this entire week I have found myself unable to shut my brain down, to find the sleep that I desperately need. So, I decided I would put my sleepless nights to good use.

Since Monday I have finished the fifth scene, pushing the thoughts that kept me awake out of my mind, choosing instead to focus on the destruction of a hidden airport belonging to the fictitious cartel that Overholt is fighting. It worked out well to say the least. However, the last remaining scene, the one part that I have struggled to wrap my head around, is proving difficult to put on paper.

Not because I don't know it; the emotions and the visuals needed aren't a foreign concept anymore. The problem is that, right now in my life they are a little close to home. As fountain pen glides across the notebook paper, I'm not expressing fallacies or mere shadows of a memory. I'm writing out my own life as it happens. Though the setting and circumstances are impossible to compare, the thoughts and fears are quite real I can assure you.

That makes it hard to write... Because I'm not sure I want to recognize these emotions in myself. I don't want to feel these feelings, and yet here I am at five in the morning, thinking the thoughts that have been keeping me awake all week. Why? Because they are feelings and emotions that Overholt just happens to be dealing with in this particular part of the story.

It was always meant to be this way, he was always supposed to struggle with these thoughts and these emotions. That's where the hard part came in at first, I had to fabricate them and it wasn't working. Now the problem is that I don't have to fabricate them, I just happen to find myself feeling them and thinking them and worrying over them. And that's not where I want to be right now. It sucks.

Thankfully, or tragically, I'm a method writer. It's a lot like being a method actor in that I need to be that character, but instead of playing at it, all I have to do is write. But, I still feel it... And that is going to make this scene hard as hell to get out.

Irish

Old Ideas and New Beginnings

Lord Stirling

Entry 1

      Though it may be my first blog entry in a long, long time, it is not the first writing I have done, nor the first 'return' entry I have done. At least three entries were written for this blog, just not using this media. For those of you who are back to visit, welcome back! To you new people, come on in and sit down.

     As a quick update: Still single, still smoking both cigs and bud, still working a farm, and still without a published work of any kind. I had written an article for Hightimes, a comprehensive run through of what it is like to be a stoner in Pennsylvania... but as yet I have heard nothing, and time has not allowed me to do much in the way of such projects for a very long time. I possess six active pieces, and have since made a game of picking which one to use by rolling a six sided die. Each number corresponds to a piece, and the numbers are designated by the order in which I acquired said pieces. Commodore Barry and General Wayne you know, however, after a cleaning mishap that put Wayne out of action, I purchased General Morgan. General Knox was a gift for watching a friend's pets, and while attending Mayhemfest I purchased my first bubbler, Lord Stirling (General Alexander). The last of my active pieces is General Lafayette, a bowl not one month in my possession yet I love it all the same and endeavor to use it more frequently than the others due to its hit characteristics.

     All the bowl news aside, not much has changed. Which is both comforting and alarming. The true reason for my renewed sense of obligation to the blog is not to continue it per say. Instead it is to alter the initial idea. I started this as a way of sharing my thoughts, ideas, and opinions on the smoking culture as I viewed it. Now, nearly a year later, and following an extended absence, the wheels have begun to turn again. A new idea has been formed. All due to the events of the day that just passed (September 12).

     While preparing for my workday, aka packing a work bowl, a car pulled in and parked at my work. With Massachusetts plates, my first thought was that some Yankee had gotten himself lost and somehow ended up in my small corner of the world. Instead, it was friends of a friend of mine who lives on the farm property. Shortly after introductions, as I set about the business of preparing my bowl, one of the gentleman handed me a nice ball of hash... out of nowhere! After a chillum of straight hash, and a few hits from Gen. Knox, I set about my workday mowing a field. The entire time I could not help but be impressed with the gentleman, a Pennsylvanian by birth, Massachusian by choice, who embodies the same philosophy of stoner that I myself abide by. Willing to share, not asking for anything but company and conversation in return, enjoying the refreshments and relaxations of a bowl in good company. I wondered just how many of us hold these views, and there an idea came into being.

     Instead of being the only contributor to the blog, I intend to recruit friends and acquaintances from different parts of the country. The specific subjects of the entries will be entirely up to the author, or in response to another post, etc etc. The main point being that we create a forum of ideas and observations from which to ponder questions great and small, and help bridge those many gaps between the various types of smoker and those who choose not to smoke. Unlike HighDEAS where everyone can post anything in a rapid fire procession of unorganized stoner intellect, there will be designated contributors who hopefully will produce one or two entries a month. Letters to the editor would be a great addition, though just as with those famed magazines these letters would need to be screened and approved. Knowing the stoners that I do, it would not surprise me if the choice of such letters would be an arduous undertaking based upon content alone. All that remains is to set the whole idea into motion. Who knows if this new adventure will be a success, the only thing I know is that it is worth a try.

    

The Green Mile, Part 1

For Every Beginning an End

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 2012                                        12:17 A.M. E.S.T.
SORTIE X OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Full Contingent   


ENTRY 1
     Due to financial difficulties, I must take my leave of marijuana. How long it will be I don't know, but I do know this is not my choice. Due to the regulations and fear mongering of marijuana in the United States of America it has become common practice to drug test individuals in order to hire them. As I must find another job to be able to scrape by in this economy I must give up that which I have chosen to treat my conditions. In my opinion, I am sacrificing my mental health and well being in order to be able to 'live'. It is with the greatest regret that I cannot continue the log, but I meant it to be an exploration while under the influence, and to conduct it without marijuana would go against the very purpose of this endeavor. One day I hope to return, to continue this and fulfill my dream, one day I will return to being the person I am comfortable being.

EB HIT! (Clearing out Old Blue Eyes so that I can put fresh green into him)

Tonight's entry will be unlike any you may have read here. All four of my bowls will make an appearance, though not a one will be a full pack. I don't think I have enough bud to fill them all completely. As I finish off the last of my bud, in these four separate pieces, I'm going to reflect on them, the interesting stories, the history, just... just go with it. I will wake them all to the creator before I clean them. It is my duty to honor their service, they've proven invaluable to me.

EB HIT! (Commodore Barry just pulled through, there wasn't much left in him)

Unfortunately, General Wayne was already cleared out last time I smoke out of him, so that just leaves my other General.

EB HIT! (General Sherman doesn't wanna give up the fight it appears, he threw Scooby Snacks at me, yet kept burning)

     All four are now cleared out. Time to pack.

STATUS REPORT:
     I can't do this right now. I've gotta sleep. Yous will get the last entry in the log, done the way Flight Log started. Pen to paper, ink flowing freely across the white canvas on which I record my life.

Incoherent Ramblings

SUNDAY, JANUARY 29, 2012                                                  11:27 P.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 7 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Old Blue Eyes   


ENTRY 2

GH HIT!

     There is so much on my mind right now that I cannot give yous one single thought that will define this post. A subject would mean that I actually have a purpose or idea in mind when I started this, and to tell yous the truth, I really don't have the motivation or desire to do this right now. This weekend took a lot outta me; mind, body, and soul. Common sense tells us that we need to grow up at some point, that we need to buckle down and follow a path that will keep us relatively comfortable as we wait to die. But can it really be common sense to wait for death?
     This is going to be the incoherent ramblings of a man struggling to find something that he can hold onto I'm afraid. Not a single thought that goes through my mind is staying long enough for me to dive into it, as one thing I think links itself to another which leads to a third, until finally it is all one singular mass of idiocy and self loathing. That GH HIT! above this paragraph... that is the first hit I've taken since the sun passed its midway point in the sky. High? Far from, and as I look at my present state, I will continue to remain distant from that point of bliss that allows me the chance to stop myself from hating, well, myself.

What I Would Do To A Woman (from the actual Flight Log)

Figuring It Out

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 25, 2012                                           1:09 A.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 1 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Commodore Barry   


ENTRY 1

     I want to talk about self worth tonight, as I have lost mine. Self Worth is defined by Collins English Dictionary as "respect for or a favourable opinion of oneself" (English means legit English, I left the damn misspelling because it is a quote, get off my back). Recently, my opinion of myself has been thrown against the rocks, the lighthouse having been extinguished in the storm. From every direction, the voices of dissent have been growing louder and more forceful. Even those I had viewed as allies in my struggle to make something of myself have begun to turn against me. One close friend, a veteran of our armed forces, is very adamant that I have done nothing but waste my time pursuing what he views as empty dreams. His life is much different than mine, and has been since we parted ways after high school. As my views emerged in a more radical and blindly just light, his have taken to the system and stations of life that I have come to question. As I call for REAL change (A throw back attack to some young students who I tried to discuss politics with after they took over the tv in my dorm in '08. I asked them repeatedly what Obama meant by change...they couldn't tell me.) and the universal equality and rights of all citizens, he has taken the view that it is better to struggle through the normal channels of American society, choosing his education based upon monetary decisions.

Logically Speaking

FRIDAY, JANUARY 20, 2012                                                    1:32 A.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 1 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Commodore Barry   


ENTRY 1

     Before I pack the Commodore for his cruise, I'm finishing off anything left in any bowl, all condensed into the Commodore. That means, instead of wasting the three 3/4 burned bowls, I've combined them all into one 3/4 full bowl. But no fear my multi-national friends, for I came by my smoking habits, dos and don'ts, in a surfer heavy culture. If it ain't white, it ain't done. Its a waste of marijuana to just scrape out every not finished bowl into the trash, and if you feel like you can get away with it, you've never been through an extended drought. Don't waste, especially buds. Dutifully accomplished, I shall now embark on Sortie 1 of my day, General Wayne is on stand-by... This looks like it is gonna be a long one.

GH HIT!

     I want to talk about logic tonight, or this morning, whichever you choose to call one-thirty in the morning. Logic, as defined by Merriam-Webster is: "a science that deals with the principles and criteria of validity of inference and demonstration : the science of the formal principles of reasoning." Dumbed down a bit, logic is the reason you do or don't. Through experience and teaching, we form reasoning skills that determine what we ultimately do in everyday life. Logic dictates that I will smoke marijuana, through experience I have come to the conclusion that it is the best way to handle my medical issues. Prior to that, my logic dictated that I would never smoke pot. It wasn't acceptable, or in line with my life plan at the time. 

Joint Operation

THURSDAY, JANUARY 19, 2012                                            11:10 A.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 2 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Old Blue Eyes   


ENTRY 1

     Packed a half bowl for the morning, as my stomach is giving me pain, and I've got a lot on my mind. However, I wanted to touch on joints, one of the most iconic ways that smokers throughout time have enjoyed marijuana.

GH HIT!

I am no Master Roller, I cannot roll blunts for the life of me (and I prefer not to. Though I may partake, and throw in for a blunt, it is by no means my favored way of smoking, and I see it as a waste of marijuana), and only recently have I returned to rolling Js after a two year hiatus. The point is, I roll what is known as a bugle: tapered, with the mouthpiece being about maybe a half to a third the width of the end you light. After closing the mouthpiece, I leave the burning end open, packing in the bud that fell out as I rolled the joint. With a twist, I've completed a bugle style joint. I bring this up because last night, both myself and B Cents each rolled a J. My bugle seemed strange to him (and it more than likely is strange to most my age, as it is a classic way of rolling, and by classic I mean first half of the twentieth century), and he presented to me what I call a cannon. Consistently he rolls joints the size of Camel Wides, they are massive (His blunts are the same, as packed as they can be).

Ethics and Such Nonsense

TUESDAY, JANUARY 17, 2012                                                   8:06 P.M. E.S.T.
SORTIE 4 OF THE DAY
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT General Wayne  

ENTRY 3
     Stoners are some of the most helpful people in the world. Think about it, a true Stoner is never going to back out of something that will ultimately help someone else, unless that other person has severely wronged them. If you are outta bud, most Stoners will assist in getting you high, or giving you enough to get there later. I personally do not worry about money when smoking people up, sharing is caring they always say, and I care a lot about marijuana. Partly due to my philosophy on bud, and mostly due to the lyrics in a song, I joke that I'm the Reefer Man. Olde Tyme Jazz baby! But we are digressing from the point here.

GH HIT! 

     Quick run down of my Stoner ethics, my PERSONAL Stoner ethics: Always be willing to share, even if it is your last bud, for someday the favor will be returned. Respect other view points, preferences, and definitions regardless of your own. Never turn down a bowl of bud, regardless of quality (it may be all they have access to). Always offer a fresh packed bowl to the rest of the group,

History, It's What's For Dinner

MONDAY, JANUARY 16, 2012                                                  7:50 P.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 4 OF THE DAY
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Old Blue Eyes   


ENTRY 2

GH HIT!

     We've been told our entire lives that we study history so we do not repeat the same mistakes. As time has shown, not everyone studies history... they look at it for support of their own claims, and deny the other side. And yes, most history is written by the victors, but you can find the defeated stories if you look properly. Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day here in the United States. For those of you who do not know, MLK Jr was THE leading civil rights activist up until his assassination in 1968. Today is meant to be a day of remembrance, to honor not only his memory, but the collective memory of our country's bleak past of bigotry so we do not repeat those same mistakes, those same acts of bravery and violence, as we progress as a nation into the future. I have had the priviladge (thanks to the tireless efforts of a dear friend) to meet Dr. Andrew Young, himself a leading civil rights activist and friend of Dr. King Jr.'s. His bearing and tact, even now, left a profound impact on me as I watched him walk into the lecture hall two years ago [Note: he received threatening letters, and STILL showed up to enlighten "...the future leaders of our country."].

Sometimes You Can't Get There

SUNDAY, JANUARY 15, 2012                                                   1:30 P.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 3 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT General Sherman   


ENTRY 1

GH HIT!

     I've got no idea what to write about today, got a lingering headache, that is relieved by the pot, and hopefully by the aspirin I took just before this cup of coffee. I hope it all works out, and my head stops hurting. I don't know if I will be doing anything tonight, though I have to be at work 8 A.M. tomorrow morning and I still exist without a vehicle at the present time. The only way to get to work may be to stay somewhere where I know I'll have a ride. That or set one up now, so that I have a set schedule for once.

HIT!

I gotta do laundry, that's for sure.

(Continued at 3:01 P.M.)

HIT!

Buh, that's all I can really say. It is one of those days that you just don't wanna do anything, I just wanna fucking do something. Last night was a blast, but started out awkward for me, as it had been three years since I was at a party like that. Makes you feel kinda old. I don't know though, just blar.

Deal With This!

SATURDAY, JANUARY 14, 2012                                               6:37 P.M. E.S.T.
SORTIE 4 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Commodore Barry   


ENTRY 1


     Long, long start to this year. Found out what it was like to have none of the modern conveniences I that take for granted, and it sucks. Got a new designated dealer, worked through a hook-up/connect, and very pleased. B. Cents and his blunt fucked me up good, and I got to see the hottest little number I know for a short bit. So much was discussed marijuana-wise in the past twenty-four hour period that I've gotta stop, take a hit, and think about the thoughts I wanted to touch on.

HIT! x2

Let's just go with a simple subject, one that has been a major concern for a bit: Dealers. I don't know of a single dealer that I would consider a Stoner, and mind you, dealer does not mean a friend you get pot off of and shoot the shit with for the rest of the night, but an acquaintance of a strictly business nature. Let's face it, unless you've been going to the dude for a good bit, or you have a generally great report (reputation), most dealers are just looking to get your money, give you whatever they have, and be on their way. Unless they were exceptional businessmen (I was blessed with that type of dealer at college), or like minded individuals, I don't think I have ever had a dealer I would trust.

Quick Thought Before Food

MONDAY, JANUARY 9, 2012                                                    6:06 P.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 2 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Commodore Barry   


ENTRY 2

     I've gotta look into the actual log to retrieve the thought I had today. Smoker types!

HIT! x3

You see, C.R. doesn't smoke by himself. Now, mind you , he is a Junior Pothead, he just doesn't have the desire to smoke by himself. It wasn't until recently that he started smoking without his guide (the person responsible for his comfort around marijuana), but he will only smoke if someone else is smoking. I, on the other hand, smoke so often, it really isn't practical to worry about other people joining me for a bowl. Not to mention, I'm not smoking as a social outlet, I'm smoking as a medical user for the majority of the time. This, however brings up a very interesting point. I believe in the classes, and the titles, but are there types?

Our Most Basic of Enemy

THURSDAY, JANUARY 5, 2012                                               1:37 A.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 1 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Old Blue Eyes    

ENTRY 1

GB HIT!

     Fear... It is the great divider, the one thing that determines everything in human interaction. Either you overcome it, or you submit to it. You can take the reins in your hands and hold on for the ride, knowing that there is a strong chance you'll be better off for conquering that foe; or you can sit down and allow it to rule your decisions, infect your thought and spoil your hopes. I feel compelled to present to you the reality that I am a fearing man. I am afraid of what my actions will entail, what my words will insight, and what my future holds for me. I am afraid that what I do is futile, what I participate in will fail, and what I hope for will never be realized. I am afraid of many many things. Yet, I have chosen not to submit to this tyrannical fear that has come to define our human condition, as well as our social situations.

What Does It All Mean?

TUESDAY, JANUARY 3, 2012                                                    9:47 P.M. E.S.T.  
SORTIE 4 OF THE DAY
PILOT F. Irish S/A  
EQUIPMENT General Sherman  

ENTRY 4

     I was two paragraphs in when my browser said 'Fuck you stoner!' and closed out with an error notice...apparently it doesn't like stoner music searches. Luckily, I hadn't hit General Sherman yet... so...

GH HIT!

I feel the need to clarify the basic outline of my Log here, and why it is the way it is. You see, I worry that yous may not understand what I'm actually saying when I start these entries, or when I name some officer from the past, etc etc.
     I call it my Flight Log, because I associate getting high with flying. The more you put in, the more you push the throttle, the higher you go. Obviously the date and time are self explanatory, it is (presently) 9:52 P.M. E.S.T. on the third day of the first month of the year of two thousand and twelve. Sortie refers to the act of smoking, and the sortie number is how many times I've smoked that day up until that point. Pilot...another obvious one, I'm the pilot, the person who is taking part on the 'flight' if you will. If there is more than one person involved, they are also denoted under the pilot section. Equipment is the piece I am using while smoking this time. I have three glass bowls that I rotate through on a regular basis: General Sherman, Commodore Barry, and General Wayne (by time owned oldest to newest). They've all been named for one reason or another after militarily historic American figures, two of which are from my Commonwealth (Barry was an Irish immigrant who served in the Revolution and is considered the father of the United States Navy, Wayne was Pennsylvania born in Chester County, which at the time of the Revolution also included what is today Delaware County), and the other was an Ohio native who served in the Civil War (though he 'burned' his way through the South, it is important to note that he DID NOT burn civilian targets, only militarily important targets, so he is not some evil devil sent to destroy the Southern way of life [frankly, as outspoken of a Northerner as I am, I enjoy the relaxed pace at which my Southern brethren operate]).

Lacking

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

ENTRY 1
     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.

GH HIT!

     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.

Changes

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 20, 2011                                              9:15 P.M. E.S.T.
SORTIE 1 OF THE DAY
PILOT F. IRISH S/A
EQUIPMENT OLD BLUE EYES (POST RETIREMENT)

ENTRY 1
     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.