Stoney, Get Your Shit Together

At times, I bring it down a little too hard, and a little too “kewl.” As anyone who knows me knows, I hide my insecurities behind a wall of scorn and stoneyness. It’s a little sad, but true, that I find it difficult to do the easiest things in life, like order a sandwich, because I can’t center myself enough to face the world around me.

Is that a huge problem, though? Who cares if I can’t talk to anybody or deal with shit? Is it something that I should be working hard to fix?

My drug and alcohol abuse is borderline excessive, but nothing near what it used to be. It started in college, in the first week, when I started getting trashed every night, so I could go out and handle talking to people and stuff. I think this goes back to what I was saying about “the real world.” Supposedly, all that algebra and problem solving I was doing every summer in between tennis lessons was supposed to give me something to be handle to deal with everyday shit better. The real world. But in the end, I developed into a hyper-sensitive intellectual who had to get totally wasted to get over myself enough to interact with my peers. Holla, Dank.

Anyway, instead of working on something, like business class projects or helping little kids learn how to read, I turned all my attention and focus inward, and I hypercharged my body and mind with a lot of drugs, all the time. It started with just beer and smoking blunts. It wasn’t even a question of “Should I be doing this?” It was “Give me more, Give me more,” until I was stoned literally 24/7. I drank every night too, cheers. But every morning, wake and bake style in the Gaz-bo…it would be me, Dank and Suit, and anybody else who wanted to come along, we weren’t very exclusive about the smoking circle, unless it was Nate the Player Hate, that fag.

The result of my excessive stoneyness actually points directly towards the cause. When I was (am) stoned, I am in my own world, and nothing really can touch me. It’s like a blanket, and I am nice, warm and cozy, like a big fuzzy stoned blanket in my brain. I need to be stoned to deal with the real world. I need it to handle my life. Don’t let my rhetoric make it seem like I feel controlled by the weeds. In Key West, I didn’t smoke for well over a week, and I never once jonesed for it, or tried to score a sac when I was fucked up drunk because I “just had to smoke.” The thing is, I fucking LOVE smoking that weed. I love it. I think it smells so, so good, it’s like a pretty flower that God himself gave us people to get stoned and happy. I think it’s ridiculous that weed is illegal and drinking alcohol isn’t. Both are clearly drugs, but the pros and cons of the two are clearly skewed towards the positive side affects of the marijuana weed.

Anyway, I’m not going anywhere with this really. I just wanted to talk about something, and I don’t have anything to talk about. I’m sitting at work, wasting my time. I watched some YouTube videos earlier of Blind Melon, and they were sick. There was one where Shannon Hoon wrote a fucking question mark on his forehead with black magic marker, and then went on David Letterman and sang a song.

The point of the story is, that I get stoned to handle the world around me easier, but that also probably comes from a weak and insecure place. My scowls and endless coolness point to my inability to come to terms with myself and the world around me. Like Ernest Hemingway and others before me, I get fucked the fuck up to deal with the shit, whether I can admit it or not. Hem-dog was a fellow scowler, and I literally feel his pain because I know where he’s coming from.

The war in Iraq, the impending war in Iran, people being terrible, the heart of darkness. My formative years were spent dwelling on the impending doom and destruction of our society as we know it. I felt like Radiohead was speaking to me, and only me, telling me secrets that I already knew, while no one else was watching or cared. I remember watching the Shock and Awe campaign on TV in my dorm room as the first bombs fell, smoking weed with Suit, and thinking “This is the beginning of the end.” As cheesy corny and half-baked that is, it’s true, and I can still visualize how I felt as I watched those bombs fall on Iraq.

I try my best to keep a positive attitude, and to not be too cool for school, and to not be such an arrogant fuck, but in the end, I go back to my old habits, where I feel safe and secure, even though I am clearly not.

Stoney for life, bitches. Deal with it.


4 Responses to “Stoney, Get Your Shit Together”

  1. 1 dankknuggets September 18, 2007 at 8:21 am

    i remember smoking and watching shock and awe and being like- cool.

  2. 2 dankknuggets September 18, 2007 at 8:30 am

    “on the day the world ends, the bee visits the clover. happy porpoises jump…and those who expect lightning and thunder, are dissapointed…the white-haired old man who would be a prophet, but is too busy as he binds his tomatoes says, “there will be no other end of the world, there will be no other end of the world”. –badass poloc

    the day you’re born is the day you start dying so go out and have a good time while it lasts. –another badass poloc, me

  3. 3 gn September 18, 2007 at 4:46 pm

    You are not savage.

  4. 4 stoneywageslave September 19, 2007 at 7:01 am


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