Hempcity Hotel

Hempcity Webshop

Hempcity Webcam

User picture upload

Hempcity Forum

Hempcity Movies

Hempcity in the press

Dutch Growrooms

Travel reports

Links to friends

Our Cannabis Shops

Image Galleries

Link to Hempcity

Guestbook


     

higher than Buddha

Tell us about your extra-ordinairy smoking experiences, super dooper smoke or smokers.

Moderators: deliriumt, cannabinol, milehigh, CoolZero

higher than Buddha

Postby Guest » Wed Aug 31, 2005 8:31 am

....puff, puff....
the time is the late 70's. the place is the Valley of Bamiyan, Afghanistan.
my traveling companions and i are some of the first tourists to come thru this town in many months, due to the recent soviet-backed coup. we are a welkum sight to the eyes of the local hotel owners, who are fighting amongst themselves before we all descend from the bus in the middle of town. the winner, it seems, gets the pleasure of introducing himself and his establishment to all concerned, and we are soon wisked in the direction of said establishment. we apologetically shrug to the defeated hotel owners and are hastened away. food & lodging, 2 bits per...
the building is a fascinating inn; 2 stories of simple post & beam, with wattle for walls. upstairs, the bedrooms. down, the public rooms & kitchen. the wc out back, of course. no electricity, cold showers, and rope beds. it coulda been five hundred years earlier, and this place was probably looking about the same. we're all beat after the long and rugged (!) journey up from Kabul. it's late, and after some lamb and rice, a few puffs of Freak Street black, we're all off to bed.... nodding off, to the occasional burst of gunfire out in the distance.
next day we're up early, breaking fast with lamb and rice, a few chillums are passed around the great room in prep for the day. and a beautiful day it was, a rich azure sky the like i've not seen since. the air was cooler & cleaner up here in the mountains, very refreshing.... our rooms faced off the one dirt road that was the town, so our view out our respective rooms was to the fields & homes scattered thru-out the valley, with the Hindu Kush in the distance. out we stumbled into the street and for the first time saw what Bamiyan was so famous for---the Giants! two huge figures carved into the rockface of the cliffs! we collectively gasp.. holy shite! they are in the likeness of the buddha. (i later learn they have been re-faced, and buddha was only the last incarnation of the carvings--they were known earlier as the Giants) anyway, we are f*cking blown away by the site of it, and started, naturally, to head in that direction... we were met on the street by a local who asked if we wanted a guide to the tunnels and the buddhas. sure! but we ask if he can get us a little local hasj as well, as our Kabul purchases are running low. off he goes with instructions to meet him at the feet of the buddha in 10 minutes. and he also reminds us not to trust any of the other 'guides', and wait solely for him, as he knew the correct way, and they were all theives & cutthroats, and not to be trusted. ...he was looking out for us. hehehe!
so yeah, we hang at the base until our trustworthy guide re-appears, with hash in hand, literally, as he seems to be making it as he trots up... so now we've got a palmfull of sweet black hasheesh, and pay him twice the afghani he asks for, against his many protests we manage to convince him to take the amount in full. he promises us the super-deluxe tour. so up we go thru the tunnels that catacombe into the mountain, stopping often, and taking in the views thru the many windows along the way.
eventually we realize we are up looking out over the buddha's head, there was this incredible view up over the Hindu Kush opposite us, and i swear i could the beginnings of the Himalya up there in the clouds. i was awestruck. it wasn't a view you could have seen from the valley floor below, but at this height it was literally awesome. the scene had the colors of a Maxfield Parrish lithograph... so naturally, we got out the much-used chillum, packed it with that fresh Bamiyan Black, and sat down for a serious session. bom shiva!

and that's one of my best smoke stories.
sitting on buddha's head...

s:.

p.s. it is unfortunate, but these giant carvings no longer exist. they were blown up by islamic zealots.
Guest
 
Top

petting the lions

Postby s:. » Tue Sep 13, 2005 6:15 am

sorry, forgot to sign in for that last tale.
anyway, here's another:

i'm traveling by thumb, from Seattle to LA, lo, many years past...
the second day into this jaunt, and i'm only in fucking Oregon! rides are not happening like they should, it's rainy, foggy, and i'm irritated from sleeping on the cold & wet thru-out the night. not good, the Road don't play that game. you've got to get in the Road's Own Groove for it to work right. and i know all this, i've been there over and over. so i step outside of my ill-will, put out my thumb, and start walking.
soon after the sun starts breaking thru the morning mists, and my spirits rise. thumb still out. some traffic, not much. so i start spacing-out on the lovely views. ok, mid-morning, about 10 or 12 miles walking, still no rides yet. yup, it's time for an attitude adjustment. so i abandon the road, and head into the trees. find a nice seat amongst the roots. open the rucksack, pull out my mere provisions; a canteen of H2O, and a container of granola. yeah, granola. inside there's a ounce of what was known as columbian gold. (what passed for commercial weed in those days) in-between mouthfulls of water & granola, i twist one up. aaaaaahhhhh, the pause that truely refreshes! kicking out under the canopy, with birds singing, and the smell of clean air...what could be better? sated, and stoned, i eventually make my way back to the two-lane highway.
now the sun is shining in a bright sky, and i'm feeling better equipped to deal with the realities of the road. so i put out me thumb, and along comes a 'red vee-doublya micro bus' (okay, so maybe it wasn't really red) and it promptly pulls over. great! so i hop in the passenger seat, and off we go... the driver is a beautiful native-american woman, with long hair, and deep dark eyes. in back of me is her 4 year old son playing on the floor of the bus.
i thank her for stopping, and she says she's only going about 30 miles furthur down the road. great, says i... after chatting for a bit, she asks if i would like to get high. sure! i chime in that i've got herb as well--but she says she only smokes her own mixture, no offense--none taken, i assure her. i wonder why, but sense that it's none of my business to ask. you'll find the pipe and herb in the glovebox, she tells me. so i'm packing the bowl with this mixture that had the most delightful smell. it's only about half weed, the other half was a combination of colorful herbs & flowers. i was curious, and she told me about the ingredients. (i've long-since forgotten) so we flame it up, and pass it back & forth as we wheel down the highway. it had a wonderful smell, and tasted great. the high wasn't too potent, but it was very nice. she said she was a light-weight, and this personal mixture was all she needed to keep up with her active son.
a few more miles down the road, and we're almost to her stop. it seems they are stopping at 'another roadside attraction' up ahead. she explains it's a petting zoo for kids, they come here often, and if i wasn't in a hurry, i could certainly join them. a zoo?!? yew betcha!
so ten minutes later, i'm sitting on the ground, with a purring lion cub in my lap.
very cool...

s:.
User avatar
s:.
 
Posts: 29
Joined: Wed Aug 31, 2005 6:37 am
Top

haarlem

Postby s:. » Wed Nov 09, 2005 5:31 am

ok so here's a very cool little tale...
had the pleasure of visiting Sativa & Indica in the fair city of Haarlem a few weeks back. oct19 it was, and i and a pal spent some time in each place, betwixt walking and wandering thru the lovely streets. the city itself is a joy to behold-a spectacular square! we only had one day in town, and didn't see all of it, but enuff to know i'd like to go back. while we didn't make it to Sinsemilla (another reason to go back), the other WW shops earn high marks in both menu & ambience. collectively we purchased kryptonite, white pearl, and a chunk o' afghan super at Sativa. from Indica we got juicy fruit and amnesia haze. all items were top of the line, with my faves being the juicy, and super afghani. the staff @ each shop were quite friendly, and very helpful when we wanted to talk menu. kudos to all!
this little story has no plot, no punchline.
just a POV of one person, on one particularly enjoyable day in Haarlem.

s:.
User avatar
s:.
 
Posts: 29
Joined: Wed Aug 31, 2005 6:37 am
Top

hindu kush

Postby s:. » Sat Nov 26, 2005 10:45 am

Bom Shiva!
another tale from the way-back machine. back when the world was run by hippies. :shock:
we're crossing the border of Pakistan & India. a long train ride to the middle of nowhere. it is truely an outpost. a couple mudbrick buildings, nothing more. and it's fucking hot as hell. the last few days consisted of a steady diet of opium & hasheesh, that combined with the train ride, no sleep, little food, and dysentery...well, you can imagine perhaps our state of mind and body. if you've traveled by rail in this region you know the unique experience it is, if you've never, consider yourself lucky and leave it at that. it's not for the faint of heart. ...so it's about 9am as we finally chug our way into this little place in the middle of the desert. we're told we must all disembark. so we all line up by the customs tables, our little group, and a hundred million pakistanis and indians. they, their luggage, and animals are directed to one set of tables in the sun, where they hunker down into an encampment. the obvious foreigners--us--are lead into one of the buildings, where we must fill out paperwork. indian officials love paperwork. they were very glad to be rid of the british, but inherited from them a love of bureaucracy. that, coupled with indian caste mentality, produced a wealth of petty officials each garnering a small corner of officialdom. and damn proud of it. there are a couple of gents at desks, and many, many people running this way and that. delivering papers from one desk to another, to file, or amongst themselves. a high state of energy, alot of yelling, and rubber stamps are somberly stamping away--much to everyone's approval. ...they take little notice of us as we start filling out the required papers. standard stuff; name, age, country of origin, occupation, length of stay, etc.... as usual, we are well stoned. and we are collectively stumped when it comes to 'occupation'. the 3 Belgians were on the dole, the Aussie hasn't had a job in years, and we 2 Americans are equally gainfully unemployed. we all agreed that we had dealt drugs recently, but thought that might not be the best thing to write down, so we start making stuff up. one guy claimed to be a doctor, another a lawyer, a diplomat, a cowboy, an opera singer... we were getting silly. so with the papers filled out, and much stamping, much approval, and many handoffs, we were then escorted back outside into the 110 degree heat, and to a special table devoted to non-locals. me & C:. are at the back of our little line, as the border guards start going thru luggage. tis then C:. reminds me he still has about 10 grams each of opium and hash in a cigarette box in his pocket. well, says i, toss it i guess. we'll get more in India. the stuff was so cheap, it's not worth the hassle. nope, he don't wanna part with it, says he. it goes against his principles to throw away good dope. well, it's way too much to eat, says i, what do you propose to do? i dunno, maybe they won't look in my ciggy box, says he. by now we're getting too close to the searchers to start throwing anything on the ground unnoticed. let me go first, i say, i've got a plan... so i'm up, and the guard is going thru my stuff, patting me down, checking passport, visa, etc... i'm all done, so i walk across the non-existing line and am now in India. C:. steps up to the guards, and while they're going thru his stuff, looking at his passport, and etc... i casually say (from the other side of the table), "hey, C...got a cig?" he's smiling as he takes out the pack and tosses it to me, over the shoulder of the main border guard..... they then pat him down. a minute later, he crosses the border. it probably wouldn't have been a big deal had they found the stash, but we didn't want to find out. so we meander back to the train, which has also crossed the imaginary line. we're glad to find the train mostly empty, so we all stake-out good seats for the rest of the ride. it's still a couple hours before the hundred million indians & pakistanis are all back onboard. so we all get comfortable--or as comfortable as it is possible to be on an indian train--and light a few pipes, munch down some freshly smuggled opium, and slowly....slowly.........eyes dimming.....start chugging off into India. thru my half dreamstate, i see whole episodes of lives in the eyes of the people working the land as we go speeding by. dirt, dust, heat. into the north of India.................

s:.
Last edited by s:. on Mon Feb 20, 2006 10:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
s:.
 
Posts: 29
Joined: Wed Aug 31, 2005 6:37 am
Top

karma

Postby s:. » Wed Nov 30, 2005 6:03 am

this story was posted elsewhere, but i thought it apropos to post here as well.
karma karma karma
a long time ago, in a galaxy quite near, a pal & i were hitchiking up thru VT to Montreal and beyond. a couple miles from the border, in the middle of nowhere, and having no luck with rides... he's got his thumb out to very little traffic, and i'm sitting with my back against a light pole. i'm taking-in the scenery, when i look down and suddenly notice a 'Twinnings Tea Tin' neatly placed against the concrete base supporting the pole. hmmmmmmm. not tossed onto the roadside as would be a piece of trash (sadly), but neatly placed. so i opened it up, and lo, it was brimming with rolling papers, a pipe, matches, about 1/4oz of some bud, a vial of valium, and a vial of Black Beauties (remember them?)!!!! so i yell to my buddy to get his ass over here pronto, to hell with the road! his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the goodies. naturally, we gave up thumbing, scooted into some brush, twisted a couple, sparked, and had a much better attitude. the idea of eating some valium with the border just up the road, didn't appeal, but the Beauties were a natural, so we scarffed a few each. we put everything back where we found it--minus the small amount we had imbibed-- and included a note thanking the owners for their hospitality. we assumed they were also heading to the Canadian border, and didn't want to risk a bust, so stashed it for the return trip. needless to say, once we were back on the highway--feeling much better--the bloody cars couldn't pull over quick enuff! always works that way....

so..... the next year, i was hitching westward from coast to coast. i was lucky enuff to get picked up by a guy in Grand Junction, CO with a couple lbs of bud in his trunk looking to sell. he probably spotted me for a potential customer (long hair was a dead give-away in those days!) obviously i wasn't interested in hitchiking to L.A. with quantity on me, nor did i have the money for something like that, but i did take an oz off his hands with many, many thanks! he dropped me a few miles uproad, where i climbed up underneath an overpass (the hitchiker's shelter from storms)...sat back, twisted and enjoyed my wonderful luck. t'was then i remembered the year earlier's VT story, so figured it was payback time. rolled up 3 or 4 numbers, popped 'em inside a marlboro box, threw in some matches, stuck it in a small plastic bag (to keep it dry) and tied it up under the i-beams that were providing me with shelter. in the bag, in plain view, i left a note, saying something about 'what goes around, comes around', and asking if they partook of the herb, at some point in the future they must also leave some herb in an appropriate place that will be found by fellow travellers. and i hope whoever found this stash, did that very thing....
otherwise, if you're ever passing thru Grand Junction, and jones'n to get high, there's some skanky old weed stuck up under some overpass on I70...i remember RR tracks, and the river nearby... it would be really funny if it were still there... i'm sure it's ripe by now!
naturally, karmic rules still apply.

s:.
User avatar
s:.
 
Posts: 29
Joined: Wed Aug 31, 2005 6:37 am
Top

sierra nevada doppleganger

Postby s:. » Sat Feb 04, 2006 6:06 am

a very long time ago, when dinosaurs ruled the earth, we find our hero, once again on the golden road to unlimited devotion. yet another nord amerikan sea-to-shining-sea saga, this time east from Saint Fransisco to Nieuw Amsterdamm, N-WHY. it's early autumn back east, but still late summer where i'm at. i've left Santa Cruz Mtns. and have come north to intercept 80 for the long jaunt by thumb. i'm on the east side of Sacramento as the sun is sinking, when a car pulls over. drivers only going about 10/15 miles, but that's fine cause then i'll be in the foothills of Sierra Nevada. the cool of the mountains will be a welcome relief after a long hot afternoon in California's central valley. something special about the air in Cali. it's sweet. along the coast it's eculyptus & ivy, inland it's wheat. then you start to rise in the hills and you know you ain't gonna smell California too much longer... (except for the tasty green stashed in the sleeping bag) so onward and upward and we find ourselves eating a burger at some A&W rooot beer stand, chatting it up with the cute waitress, who was inordinately interested in my affairs and wheretos, as if the poor dear had never before seen a long-haired guy with a rucksack. maybe she hadn't... she was particularly keen on knowing where i slept on the road (i'm already plotting...), well, says i, i find places (crafty and sly)... turns out her boyfriend (a high school quarterback of local renown) is picking her up after work, and i can come hang with them if i wanted...well, no, thank you kindly, the leaves are falling all around, it's time i was on my way and back out to the entrance ramp of the interstate, thumb out, and bummin cause i thought it was gonna be a good night's frolic. so it goes. a camaro pulls over, i hop in. no sooner got the door closed, when he's burnin rubber, and i'm thinking oh shit it's another one of THESE rides, hang on! i say thanx for stopping and notice he's got a stoned shit-eating grin from ear-to-ear, and he's looking at me and laughing (we're already up to like 70 miles an hour) and he's shouting John! what the fuck are you doing on the road? huh? what'yr car break down? ummm... wait a moment, my name ain't John, says i. what?? now he's swerving while he's looking at me closer.... don't fuck with me John! no, really, i'm not John. still swerving, still eyeballing me... hey, you ain't John! yup, that's what i been tellin ya, i'm not John.... finally convinced i'm not this guy John, he is first a bit confused. i can tell he's thinking, i only stopped cause i thought it was John. but being a likable sort by nature, and an inebriated sort by design, he quickly forgave me my impersonation of the lovable John, and we soon fell into light conversation. he was delighted when i offered to spark one up, and swore to repay me tenfold. no need, just weed. ...so now we're stoned and almost at his stop, when the stoner's lightbulb goes off above his head, and he insists on including me in his evening's plans, to wit; get drunk at the local. well....i thank him for the offer, but plead poverty (true), and wish him a merry eve. he'll have none of it, a drink or 2 for the road on him, and then he will personally drive me to the best place to hitch a ride. well.... still bummin about the escaped lassie, sure, whuddafug! a couple drinks'll put me right.
and hopefully his driving will improve with his drinking. so off we go to this cool log saloon, in some little town. the place is buzzin with honky tonk on the jukebox, the clack clack clack of the pool tables, and the overpowering smell of beer and sawdust. it was like walking into a cowboy movie. so my buddy's motives became plain once he started introducing me to EVERYBODY in the fucking bar, and they all gasped at my resemblance to the aforementioned Lovable John. it was amusing for about 10 minutes. then it got a little creepy, as i kept thinking John was gonna walk thru the door, and i didn't know what to expect should i come face-to-face with my doppleganger! would we both explode? ...but they were all a nice crew, and very hospitable. and indeed, my driver pal gifted me with some herb for the road, a few drinks, enjoyable company for a few hours, and then delivered me back to the road...
but not where i originally planned.
as we're leaving the bar, he asks me if it matters how i travel, as there's a freight train up the road that'll be pulling out for points east... WHOA fucking cool! hop a freight??? yew bet! just show me where! (woody guthrie soundtrack playing full tilt!) so we pull onto a dirt road and soon find ourselves in a small yard. only 4 or 5 side tracks in all, but sitting on one of 'em is a monster of a train, it's length disappearing into the darkness. so we scout around until i find the one open boxcar. up i jump, and soon alone.........
i take advantage of the full moon's light, and twist up a few for the ride. about an hour later i hear and feel the cars starting up. alot of clanging around, cars bumping one another, the sound of steel on steel. we slowly start chugging along. once we get moving at a good clip, i figure it's safe to come out of the shadow of the inner boxcar. it's getting chillier the higher we go, so i put on my british naval sweater, and take the best seat in the house. i got my legs dangling out the doorway, watching the villages with their one RR crossing lights giving that doppler effect as they whizz by. it's around 1am so there's little movement besides the lone dog barking at the train. bright full moon, crisp mountain air, i could see down into the valleys as we skirt along the hillsides. i have a permanent visual imprint of turning into one valley, and seeing another train across the vale. i'm smoking a joint, digging that other train over there... when it hit's me--that's not ANOTHER train, that's THIS train! i'm in the back cars, and i can see the front cars over there! very odd. in my stoned imaginings, i reckoned the train to be about a hundred cars long. by about 4am i figured i should try to sleep a bit, so i rolled out the sleeping bag on some hay and crawled in. surprise! sleeping in a moving boxcar may not be the best rest you'll ever get, and i tumbled along in the dawn. eventually i started to doze, and i could feel the sun warming the air, and there was alot of stopping and starting of the train. lotsa banging around, and i could hear voices in the Reno yard, so i thought it best to stay undercover for a while. eventually the noise died down, so i lay me head back down. suddenly i hear some rustling hay, and in the still dim light, i notice, much to my surprise, a figure emerging from a hay pile. some old hobo shared my boxcar all night, and i never even saw him! i felt kinda silly in my sweater and goosedown bag, while this guy only had newspaper lined in his clothes, and hay to keep him warm, but there was little to do about it now. so i offered him some of my meager provisions (water & granola), gave him a couple smokes, and out he hopped, never to be seen again. my plan was to stay onboard, and continue eastward once the train gets moving again. yeah, good plan. so i'm waiting. and waiting. finally i figure i'd better pop my head out the door and see what the hold up was about. so i do. lo and behold, i'm sitting in one lonesome boxcar, no longer connected to any train whatsoever! doh! the train left me! so i collect my gear, hop off, and figure i'll find another possible lift... i didn't get very far when a security truck sped up to me and got all in my business. they didn't recognize me has having crashed their yard before, so they let me go with a stern warning.... then i walked a few miles into Reno and got one of their cheap steak dinners.
it was one of the best rides i ever had :!:

s:.
Last edited by s:. on Mon Feb 20, 2006 11:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
s:.
 
Posts: 29
Joined: Wed Aug 31, 2005 6:37 am
Top

amsterdam

Postby s:. » Mon Feb 20, 2006 10:45 am

in days of yore when i was a sprightly lad...
i had been in London a couple weeks, and had crossed over into France from Dover. about 2am, and i'm in Calais. everything's closed, even the train station. after wandering around the town for an hour or two, and meeting the first being on the continent (le meuw, le meuw!), i eventually found my way to the highway leading south towards Paris. several hours later, little traffic and nobody stopping to pick up hitchhikers, it's almost dawn, and i figured i'd make me way back to the train station. they were now open, and a smattering of bleary-eyed frenchmen & women were shufflin' about their morning routines. i step up to the window, and asked the ticket guy in broken french if he spoke english. of course he didn't--or wouldn't--so i somehow managed to piece together a few more words in french indicating my need for a ticket on the next train to Paris. soon i'm onboard, and heading to the City of Lights.
the plan was to meet up with L at the Paris Amex office at a certain time, on a certain day. L had been in Europe a couple of months already, and he had written me in New Orleans to come over and take up the euro-boho lifestyle he had grown accustom to. always up for a good jaunt, i had been saving some dough from my job on the boat, and socked away a short stack for the required euro-tour. and now i was in Paris for the first time--life is cool! and 2 days early for my meet-up... a 20 year-old american hippie with a backpack more suitable to the sierra madre than the metro---who hasn't seen this sight? well, it was me, i confess. lost in Paris, carrying 40lbs of gear, trying to find a cheap flop for the night. end up in a hotel near the Opera on the ground floor, with hookers outside my window. Parisien Hookers! ...i'm beat tired, and try to crash, but am kept awake by the sirens' calls to their sailors. i learned a little french that night in my half-dream state, but i do not use it in polite company.
furthur
L's beaming face comes charging into the Amex office, lighting up the room as he entered. he had that way about him. if you understand the term 'chutzpa', well he was the embodiment of chutzpa. he emmenated an aura of fun and adventure. he had the wonder of a child, and it infected everyone who came around him. greetings compadre! what cheer? ...so he's about 2 hours late, but hey, not bad considering i hadn't actually corresponded with him since 3 weeks previous. and we're out the door in a flash. "first things first", says he "ya gotta lose that mule you're carrying, and get a reasonable bag" he knows someone in town, we can drop the bag with him, and that we do. fortunately, i have a small WWII gas mask shoulder bag within the knapsack from hell, and fill it with the barest essentials. i roll my sleeping bag, and slip the shoulder strap thru it neatly, and viola! i am mobile again.
L's first question of course, is how much coin do you have, as he's broke. counting up, i've got about $100 bucks left--and no return flight ticket to the US. but i'm also carrying an envelope from his folks to deliver to him, which has about the same amount. great! his first scheme is to buy a VW bus so we can head back to Annecy. but i'm a bit skeptical about spending my last cash on some auto that will only require more money.
"besides... i want to go to Amsterdam", says i.
he's all for it, what a great idea he says. he lived on impulse, so a change in plans never bothered him.
we head north by thumb.
Amsterdam. even the name is cool. when i was a kid, California was the closest thing to Heaven. when i moved to CA, i found the kids there had the same notion of Hawaii. i figured the kids in Hawaii must think the same about some other place, and etc, etc, etc... but somewhere on the top of the chain there is Amsterdam. and now to finally be there. it was nirvana! i immediately fell in love with the city, as everyone does. the buildings, canals... it just felt good being there. it's the scale. it works well on a human level.
our first day we spent walking. that evening we went to the Melkweg. i dunno where i first heard about the place, but it was common knowledge that the Melkweg was the place to go for smoke. sure, you could get some hash on the street, but even way back then we knew to avoid A'dam's street dealers. so we pay our membership & entrance fee (do they still require a membership card these days?) and enter into it's dark caverns. the place is filled with the heady scent of hasheesh. i like it already. we ask and are directed to the room which the dealer has set up in. he's got a little table, and i am surprised to find nobody standing in line. so up to his table and down i look...
for the first time in my life i feel as if i am in a free society.
he has about six or seven hashes to choose from, and one type of weed from Africa. and i want to buy them all, but we settle on 4 of the hasj items, avoiding the herb at the dealers suggestion (didn't look very good). L was adept at the rolling of euro-joints, so we found a corner, and skinned up. altho i had smoked hash in the states numerous times, i had never smoked it mixed with tobacco. so L showed me the how's & whys. it didn't take very long before we were good and stoned. it was a real treat to have such a varied stash of hasj. a native told us about the space cakes being sold at the juice bar, so off we trundled in that direction.
when we finally left the Melkweg that night, we were quite wasted. so where to sleep? i figured a hostel, but L had a better idea... he had this credit card (a rare thing in those days) his peeps had given him in case of emergency. "oh yeah", says i,"your parents told me to tell you to destroy that card, they said dinner for 10 people in the south of France does not qualify as an emergency." "we were hungry, that's an emergency"
i could see the logic in it...
his plan? to get a hotel room tonight, and cut up the card tomorrow!
so we got a small suite at the Hilton and wondered if it was John & Yoko's room as we smoked ourselves into oblivion, cause we knew tomorrow was gonna be another day in Amsterdam.

and that's a good thing, indeed :!:

s:.
User avatar
s:.
 
Posts: 29
Joined: Wed Aug 31, 2005 6:37 am
Top

reflections on a river

Postby s:. » Wed Apr 19, 2006 5:30 am

:::puff puff puff:::

dissolve in from black.
revealing night scene from high aloft. a quarter moon low on the horizon & a few clouds.
descending thru clouds we make out a large river below. the mississippi.
further descent reveals a boat making upriver in the darkness.
slow zoom in... a steamboat. big black stacks, red churning paddlewheel and all.
slow zoom in... topdeck. it's quiet, few people about. we can hear a banjo plucking slowly, gently. our hero sits among some empty deck chairs. yeah, with a banjo on his knee. not really playing it, just 'pressing it'. the cool breeze is whistling thru the strings, and they vibrate like the night's insects. topdeck is nice late at night. all the tourists have gone to bed. so have most of the crew. 'cept for a few stragglers, the nightwatch, and deckhands. we'll be putting up for the night soon.
the crew (including i) weren't supposed to be on this deck, but this late, nobody will make a fuss. the karate student has finished his forms, and is packing it in. the few stragglers have straggled to their rooms. opening my banjo case, i take out a joint of some nameless weed i'd bought from a supply barge. i light it and smell that smell that i love so well. the breeze carries the smoke out over the river.
it's very quiet. the only noise is the low rumble of the boat, and a long distance off, the wail of a freight train. it seems to be following the river downstream. the darkness is overwhelming. the air in the deep south is heavy, but on the river there is another river, this one made of air. and at this particular moment the flow is from the north. it feels refreshing after the heat of the day. and my smoke is wafting aloft on that airstream and heading back down to'wards the gulf.
we pull into shoreline, and i watch the deckhands tie us up. a couple of big old trees, and five or six lines to secure us. they make short work of it, and soon cut the decklights, and retire.
it's very dark. i look up to see the sky now clear, the moon has set, and in the darkness i can see the milky way. a river of water, a river of air, and a river of stars. i pack in my banjo and head below deck. hop in my bunk, pull out "Life on the Mississippi"and read about the river. they say you cannot step in the same river twice.

s:.
User avatar
s:.
 
Posts: 29
Joined: Wed Aug 31, 2005 6:37 am
Top


Return to Smokers tales...

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest

cron