High Culture:
Marijuana in the Lives of Americans
by William Novak
Appendix I. Letters from Smokers (and Nonsmokers)
1. A San Francisco cannabis connoisseur ("Alan"),
36, married
I first turned on with marijuana while an undergraduate in 1963,
although I didn't really get into it until two or three years
later when I was in India. I have been smoking it regularly since
then, ranging from a couple of times a week to almost every night
as a relaxant.
I have also stopped smoking a few times for periods of up to several
months, whenever I feel that it's just becoming habitual or uninspiring.
I also stop smoking and possessing marijuana whenever I'm involved
in political organizing around the marijuana law reform issue—in
other words, when I'm in the glare of publicity, or when I feel
that even the slightest chance of getting busted would harm the
cause.
I usually smoke a joint or two in the evenings with my wife, while
watching the tube or playing backgammon or reading, as a relaxant
and mild soporific. I've been insomniac since the year one, and
find a little dope by far the best sedative, although a quarter
of a Quaalude does almost as well. I rarely smoke pot during the
daytime while working, not only because it would be hazardous
to get caught but also because I don't like to work while stoned;
it's too much of an effort, and it's distracting and drains energy.
I'm a classic workaholic and regard one of the most important
of pot's medical uses as a self-medication against overwork.
On the other hand, I find that marijuana increases my imaginativeness
and creativity when I'm working on something creative, like writing
or photography. I believe in chemical control of my own consciousness,
and I use a great variety of drugs for specific purposes. For
creative work I find that a toot of coke for energy, a hit or
two of reefer for inspiration, a big multiple Vitamin B-complex
capsule and about 500 units of Vitamin C will usually put my consciousness
at its discursive best. For sexual activity, I like a bit more
coke (maybe a quarter gram taken in very small mini-lines over
a period of several hours), a modicum of marijuana or hash or
hash oil, a glass or two of wine for staying power, and Vitamin
E.
For pain—for example, when my wisdom teeth were pulled—I self-medicate
with prescription Percodan or Tylenol #4 with codeine, lots of
marijuana, Perrier water for minerals, Vitamin C for healing,
maybe goldenseal for healing also, and a little smoking opium
if available. It places my consciousness just beyond the pain.
At parties or social gatherings (ranging from just getting together
with another couple at home to going out to movies, to big parties),
I find that marijuana creates conviviality, gregariousness, social
giddiness. I find pot infinitely preferable to liquor as a socializer,
though sometimes tequila gold with salt and lime is wonderful.
(I also consider tequila from the Agave cactus to be the
most psychedelic of alcohols.)
Set and setting are important, and yes, there are circumstances
in which I feel pot smoking is inappropriate. I never get stoned
before making any kind of public presentation, for example, testifying
in court or before a legislative hearing, when I want to be at
my sharpest. (I don't drink coffee, toot coke, or take any other
kind of drug except tobacco in such circumstances.) I find that
too much marijuana (for me) when I'm trying to get some work done,
even creative work, leads to the two most famous pitfalls of being
stoned, STML (short-term memory loss) and TT (tangential thinking
). There are chemical and nonchemical ways to correct this condition,
but generally when writing a research paper or a journalistic
article I avoid getting very stoned.
On the other hand, I very often have magnificent creative insights
when very stoned, and leap up to capture them on a note card,
which I save for future use. A strong consciousness and will,
a highly developed critical sense, and carefully nurtured self-editorial
ability are necessary to separate the banal and trivial from the
golden glimpse, the kernel of insight that often exists in my
stoned jottings. Carpe diem is the key—seize the moment
when the insight occurs, write it down quickly and hot, and edit
and criticize it later. It's a two-edged sword; often my stoned
writing is too rambling or parenthetical, but just as often being
a bit stoned really helps the flow of writing and thought. So
there are times when smoking marijuana is very suitable, and times
when it's not suitable at all. Part of the value of long-term
marijuana use is knowing which is which from experience.
Marijuana, like all hallucinogens, is a wonderful teacher. Although
its most famous value in creativity is as a source of inspiration
and suggester of things, it is also perhaps the world's
best herb for creative appreciation Whether listening to
music, watching TV or a movie, reading poetry, mulling over one's
thoughts in a pensive mood, or sensuously touching the skin of
a loved one, marijuana sharpens the senses. That is its great
virtue and reward. Baudelaire had a sense of this in his magnificent
phrase about hashish, "the mirror that magnifies." Allen
Ginsberg wrote the definitive statement about marijuana's effect
on consciousness in general: "The paradoxical key to this
bizarre impasse of awareness is precisely that the marijuana consciousness
is one that, ever so gently, shifts the center of attention from
habitual shallow, purely verbal guidelines and repetitive
secondhand ideological interpretations of experience to more
direct, slower, absorbing, occasionally microscopically minute
engagement with sensing phenomena."
In a world glutted with information, desensitized by television
and telephone and endless tabloid journalism, this directness
and intensity of perception is marijuana's major gift to humanity.
From the historical perspective it seems to me that marijuana
is the perfect drug for the mid-twentieth century, and its massive
increase in use throughout the world in the 1960s is extremely
appropriate for this time and place. Of course, LSD and the major
hallucinogens are greater, if more demanding, teachers: but they
are ideal for advanced students7 while marijuana is generally
suited for everyone.
Insights while stoned. I've had so many valuable insights while
stoned that to describe them all would comprise a decade's autobiography.
But I would like to mention one that has repeatedly proven invaluable
over the years. I believe that marijuana's oft-mentioned ability
to interfere with immediate memory ("short-term memory loss"
) has another facet, which I call "long-term memory gain."
I believe marijuana is helpful in delving swiftly and directly
into many levels of consciousness, including those the psychologists
call "subconsciousness." A great part of the untapped
potential of the human mind lies in the reservoir of archetypal
memory, not only tucking into the memory bank everything that
happens in this life7 but also many things that have happened
in previous lives. Often this involves the most profound of human
senses, deja vu.
I pride myself on not often being guilty of fuzzy or "magical"
thinking, but I profoundly believe in many levels of consciousness,
in reincarnation, and in marijuana's ability to open up the creaking
doors of awareness of multiple realities coexisting simultaneously
in my life. T he first time I had an insight into this occurred
when I was a graduate student. A friend of mine had some relatives
visiting him, including a little girl cousin about five or six
years old, and my girlfriend and I went over to his house to smoke
some fine Afghani hash that had just arrived in town. After the
kids were put to bed we settled down for some serious exploration
of this fine, crumbly herb. We'd all gotten pretty stoned and
were sitting out on an enclosed porch watching the heavens roll
by, a very clear chilly midnight with the stars and moon ever-so-bright,
listening to records and chatting. The little girl wasn't able
to sleep and came out to the porch rubbing her fists in her eyes.
"What are you doing, Daddy?" she mumbled to her father,
who was just reloading the hash pipe.
Quietly, without any put-ons or razzle-dazzle, he told her that
we were smoking hashish and showed her how to burn it a little
and crumble it and put it in the pipe, light it, and toke on it
slowly and carefully. I was very stoned and dreamy, enjoying the
crisp air and wonderful stars and this little tableau happening;
and suddenly I was overwhelmed with a sense that this had all
happened before, had all happened to me before. The scene
was stunningly familiar: the little girl learning how to smoke
dope from her kindly father, an intimate family scene going back
to prehistory, an overwhelming sense that we were in a smoky cave
in Afghanistan in maybe 1500 B.C. and the old man was carefully,
sensitively, teaching the child a tradition already ancient. An
illusion, a "memory hallucination," perhaps. Perhaps?
But I felt that I had suddenly tapped into a great cosmic flow
of reality, a sensation that truly I had witnessed such a scene
before and it was in a Himalayan cave long ago. I have had a conviction
of having lived in ancient Afghanistan (where I've never lived
in this life, though I spent a year in India) in a past life ever
since and have had this conviction confirmed by other experiences
many times over the years. But that is not the insight. The insight
is that the use of mind drugs can make a person aware of other
levels of reality and experience that might never otherwise
be awakened. And by "experience" here I mean personal
experience, an unshakable recollection of things that have happened
to me in circumstances that are not familiar from this life's
thirty-six years on the planet. And that are made available, often
through deja vu sensations, by the judicious use of cannabis.
2. A Denver high school senior, 17, who works in a bank
I'm Miss Straight during the day, but at midnight I turn into
your everyday teenage marijuana user. Parties and all. There is
no set schedule with me, or with most of my friends, about smoking.
If someone has it, we smoke. If they don't, well, we'll stay straight.
I would say on the average that I smoke about three or four times
a week, especially on the weekends. I doubt if anyone smokes on
a set schedule.
Smoking has the best effect on me when there is a party. It seems
there are so many people to meet and talk to. Any act of craziness
is not looked at like craziness at a party because everyone knows
exactly how everyone else feels. There is much better communication
when people are smoking. For instance, if Jim and John were directly
opposite each other on the subject of capital punishment, and
if both of them smoked until they were reasonably high and then
discussed the subject, each would give in a little on their stands
until, eventually, the two would come to a kind of agreement on
the subject. This sounds strange, but it happens.
Marijuana relaxes your mind and allows new feelings and ideas
to come in. It seems your mind is at peace with itself. Sometimes
I look into the mirror and say, "Well, what are you? A dope
head or a nice, goody-goody secretary?" I'm both. I fully
enjoy my job at the bank, and I have my best times when I'm stoned.
I hope no one ever asks me to pick between the two, because I
couldn't. Also, when I'm straight, there are certain things or
actions that I would never think of doing. For example, I doubt
if I would ever kiss d total stranger for any reason. But if I
was smoking, it wouldn't seem too terribly bad, and in fact, I
probably would. I don't mean to say pot lowers your values, but
it just lets you expand and realize new dimensions.
Anything you do is more exciting, more fun, and more terrific
when you're stoned. Trying to tell someone the way you feel about
them is more romantic, more evident, and much greater when you're
high. It seems easier to express your feelings, not just about
love but about everything. You feel more open and relaxed about
your views. You try hard to express your feelings, at least harder
than when you're straight.
I have a very good relationship with my mother. She knows I get
high and I tell her about my experiences. Marijuana is basically
like anything else. If you don't know about something, you fear
it. You keep fearing it until you experience it. Then you think
you were silly for being afraid. She also has seen me when I was
extremely high. I asked her to ask me a few questions about things
that had definite answers—age, address, names of relatives.
I answered them just as quickly and just as accurately as when
I'm straight. My skills are not lowered by the effects. For example,
I can take shorthand at 140 wpm. I can take it at 140 wpm when
I'm stoned too, with the same amount of accuracy. I don't misspell
words, forget periods, or anything else like that.
There are several reasons why people are believed to smoke pot.
The first and most widely used cop-out is as an escape. I have
no problems that are bad enough to use marijuana to escape from.
Even if I did, I would not use pot as a means of escape. That's
ridiculous. Another reason people give you is because it's cool
or to make it with the crowd. Cool is what's cool to you. If I
want to run naked on the streets, I am going to. But because I
want to, not because everyone else does it.
People don't smoke pot because it's the newest thing or because
everyone else on their block is doing it. They do it because they
like it and it's right for them. As the old song goes, "you
can't please everyone, so you got to please yourself." Pot
is not addictive, so there can't be a physical need for it. People
don't realize that some people do things because they simply enjoy
it, not because they have serious problems, or because the rest
of the family does it. Also, a lot of people think the reason
kids start on pot is because they are pushed by society. No one
makes them hold the joint and no one forces them to toke on it.
The choice is (or at least it should be) made by each person.
I don't know if you're interested, but the reason I started smoking
was purely out of curiosity. I wondered what everybody was talking
about. Sure I could shake my head and laugh at the funny stories
they told about being stoned, but I never actually knew what they
were talking about, or just how they felt. So, I finally tried
it. I was scared at first, and I was also very aware of my highness.
I would say something really dumb like, "I guess I'm high."
It was terrific. I enjoyed the way it made me feel, and I continued
using it. But as every kid that smokes will tell you, there came
a time when I wanted to move on to bigger and better things. I
first tried better quality grass (Colombian Gold, Jamaican), and
then I gradually worked my way up to things like speed, downers,
THC, acid, hash, and joints with LSD in them. But because I didn't
care for some of the effects that some of them brought me, I never
used them again. I am not ashamed of trying them, and I can tell
people of my experiences and hopefully help them to look at both
sides of the drug.
Music? Well, I do know that if you don't particularly like a song
and you hear it when you're high, you tend to not dislike the
song as much. What I mean is that you enjoy music more when you're
high. Also songs that I didn't understand or didn't think had
any meaning are suddenly so meaningful that it's a trip. For example,
our rock station plays hard rock twenty-four hours a day. When
I listen, sometimes I'll hear a song I don't particularly care
to listen to, so I'll change it or turn it off. But when I'm high,
I can listen to it all the time, no matter what song comes on,
and I enjoy every song from start to finish. It's like the beat
and words are impounded in your mind, as if you're doing the singing.
I believe that music can make you higher than you actually are.
I'm afraid I can't help you much on the subject of sex. I'm still
a virgin, but I can tell you how the desires feel. Sexual arousal
is one thing that is definitely brought on when you smoke. Ask
anyone. I would say this feeling would be very close to my opinion
of lust. I don't mean you go out and find anyone. I mean you are
more apt to have sex with someone while stoned. When I think about
it, the only word that does describe this feeling is lust.
Being around lots of people while stoned is great. You talk to
people you normally wouldn't, you like people more than you normally
do too. You realize how much you care for your friends, and you
are somehow closer than before.
One of my hobbies is pretending. When I'm high the things I dream
of are somehow not as far away, at least not as far away as when
I'm straight. Feelings are more noticeable, and if you're high
and around a bunch of people, you can sense more easily a feeling
of hate, or you can tell when people really care for each other.
You can sense other people's fears more easily. You can tell when
someone doesn't like you. It's like you are a machine and can
look through people and see their feelings.
The only way I could think of using marijuana badly is for means
of escape. Real escape. I mean if you have a hard time at home,
or you always come in high because your dad's yelling doesn't
sound as loud, or your mom's bruises don't look as bad, I guess
then pot is used as alcohol. Or because you think you look prettier
when you're high. All these things are wrong reasons to use pot.
Unlike alcohol, pot can also be used for good reasons. Anytime
you smoke pot, have a few friends over, and just have a nice time—this
is using marijuana well. I feel sorry for people who can't use
this for what it provides—pleasure and peace. It's almost as
good as being in love. In fact, the two are very much alike.
There is one thing about marijuana that amazes me. You know how
it is said you can never distinguish a certain age or point when
a boy becomes a man? There is no exact moment when a boy completely
leaves his childhood and the next second he's a man and ready
to begin adulthood, right? Well, it's the same with marijuana.
When you start smoking, there is never a point when you can say,
"Okay, I know at exactly the point where I stopped being
straight and started getting high." It just never happens.
It must enter your system so slowly and carefully that you are
not even aware it's happening. That is, until you're high. It's
the same thing when you're coming down. You simply can't tell.
You know if you're high or straight; you just don't know where
the two meet.
3. On not smoking: a successful illustrator in his thirties
I haven't used marijuana for at least ten years (before I made
prints), and then only a few times. I tried hash once. My experiences
were disappointing in that I had expected breakthroughs of perception
or something of that sort, and found instead a state that was
similar to that of a reasonably concentrated work session, with
the disadvantage that I was unable to hold a train of thought
long enough to retain more than a sensation afterward that I had
the seeds of good ideas. The dreamy state was spoiled by my inability
to control the development of thoughts and by my irritation, even
while high, at seeing good ideas float off into what was clearly
an irretrievable fog of sensation. Indeed, since the images that
came to me while high were similar to those I normally developed
while working, marijuana use seemed like going back to work in
a situation that I was prepared to devote to relaxation and socialization.
The friend who provided the pot said that I was not relaxing and
had too many explicit expectations. This may be true. Nevertheless,
I was left with the impression that pot offered me nothing that
concentration and diligent observation could not and had the great
disadvantage that much of what was experienced was immediately
lost. Nor could I perceive that my friend, who was and is a regular
user, was really assisted by his use of pot and other drugs (LSD
for a while, and hash), except insofar as one might be aided by
a sedative.
My friend and I are not a statistically valid sample, but this
has not prevented me from wondering whether pot has much attraction
or advantages for anyone other than being more portable and fashionable
than booze. Other acquaintances of mine use pot, many of them
artists. I have not discussed their reactions to pot specifically,
but as I run over them in my mind the thread that runs through
them is that they all believe that an artist should be a bit zany
and that something is wrong if he is not. This follows from the
idea that art is born of neurosis. I am not a student of psychology,
but I don't subscribe to that idea; I think Van Gogh would have
done more and better work if he had had his head screwed on right.
The best aspects of his work are not those arising out of his
mental imbalance: reduce the frenzy of the brushwork and you have
a brilliantly analytical postimpressionist....
This is a digression, which I've indulged in because it brings
me around to my reason for not using pot further. It is that I
think that what is good in art comes from real perceptions, which
are available to everyone, to which the artist brings an interesting
point of view. We all respond to good art, because in one degree
or another we have all shared the perception, and it is the pleasure
that comes from finding yet a new facet to an old idea that draws
us to art. Novelty turns out to uphold the understood order of
things. Now it is true that sometimes in moments of intoxication
or agony or something that breaks in on our usual tangle of preoccupations
and permits a focus on one idea we get new perceptions; but once
we have this perception we do better to return to a steady state
and proceed with its development with all our senses of proportion
and humor at the ready. The foolishness of drunks is notorious,
and although a drunk may say one insightful thing he can rarely
string two together.
My argument, then, is that too-great dependence on pot or any
"unsettler" for a state of mind in which ideas flow
simply argues insufficient discipline of the mind.
I should add that I drink alcohol daily, or very nearly, but not
to the extent of drunkenness. I never drink while working.
4. A nineteen-year-old woman at a New England college
When I was in the sixth grade, a detective, complete with a badge,
came into our class armed with various samples of drugs: little
red pills, white powder, and some greenish-brown pot. They were
all enclosed in plastic boxes attached to a board, and he pointed
to each one in turn, explaining how each substance constituted
a threat to our lives. He even went so far as to burn some marijuana,
so that each of us would be able to recognize the pungently sweet
aroma and we would know enough to stay away from any place where
that smell could be found. I believed everything he said; marijuana
was surely an evil. How could anyone do something illegal like
smoking pot, not to mention risking harm to their brain?
In junior high the same thing happened, this time with the health
teacher. But what the teacher doesn't realize is that by telling
kids how bad it is she will just raise their curiosity. You just
sit there and think: what is it like to get high? What does she
mean by euphoria? So all the curious kids went and got high because
nobody could explain how it felt.
My first experience came shortly after that. Two close friends
of mine, both a year older than me, asked if I wanted to try it.
I knew that Marie, who was like a cousin to me, had smoked previously.
At first, I was quite shocked and disappointed in her, but gradually
the newness of the confession wore off, and I no longer viewed
it in the same alarming light. Already the logic was setting in;
if so many people smoke pot, and nobody seems to be harmed by
it, how can smoking pot be so bad?
Marie's invitation triggered conflicting emotions within me. I
was flattered to be considered "cool" enough to be asked,
but I also felt frightened and nervous. At the same time, I was
excited by the prospect of this new adventure. I would finally
see for myself what it was like to be stoned.
The first time was disappointing. Other than feeling a searing
pain in my throat when I inhaled the smoke, I felt absolutely
nothing. I had something of a natural high from the tension and
the excitement of the event, but I felt nothing from the pot itself.
The next time, though, I wasn't disappointed. I felt a light tingling
in my fingers and arms, and my eyelids felt strangely heavy. Everything
was suddenly funny; I had a perpetual grin on my face. Things
looked different. They seemed clearer, more distant. I suddenly
became aware of all the little ridges on the trunk of a palm tree.
I had trouble judging distances as we were walking, and I experienced
a case of the famous munchies. The experience was definitely a
positive one, and I had a really fun time just acting silly.
Since then, I have had many unusual experiences while stoned:
—swimming in the lake at night, I felt like my body lay floating
on shimmering glass;
—walking back with a friend to her house at midnight, we both
felt like we were in "hobbitland." The road looked like
the one to the Mystic Mountains, and any minute we expected to
see Bilbo Baggins or a dwarf pop out;
—sitting down and eating an entire cake my mother had just baked
with my brother, who was also stoned.
I also found that when I was in Florida, I could not smoke pot
during the day. The intense heat combined with being stoned made
me unbearably sleepy. I did, though, enjoy being stoned in cool
woods or mountains during the day. Nature is overwhelming by itself,
but combined with the effects of pot, it is even more so. I would
almost feel like crying because the woods were so beautiful.
Last year, I stopped smoking marijuana because I stopped enjoying
the high. I suddenly began feeling self-conscious when I smoked,
and I began to care what people thought of me. I was thinking
too much about depressing things when I was stoned, and I found
that I no longer enjoyed smoking except with very close friends.
I started to get more withdrawn, more contemplative when I was
stoned at parties; it was less and less of a social drug.
I no longer smoke, but I still get high. For instance, I would
rather drink a glass of good wine than smoke a joint. Wine relaxes
me and makes me feel good, but not the least bit uptight. And
if I am really in the mood to relax and party, which happens about
twice a month, I take half a Quaalude. No moral judgments, please,
I just think they give the best high of all. Besides, anything
in moderation can't be that bad. Which reminds me: even marijuana
can be detrimental to a person's well-being if it is used continually.
So there I find myself, in the category of people who used to
smoke marijuana, but who no longer do. I'm not for it or against
it. If people want to smoke around me, fine; I just won't smoke
with them. I find that observing can be as interesting as participating.
Being a former smoker rather than one of the people who has never
smoked puts me in a special category: I don't smoke marijuana,
but I know what it's like, and have experienced it. I think that
marijuana is a learning process that everyone should go through.
5. A housewife, 26, in a small town in Ohio
Like most people, I began to smoke marijuana out of curiosity.
The various news media bombarded me almost daily with conflicting
information about marijuana and other drugs, and I decided that
the only way to find out about the marijuana experience was to
try it, so I did. That was about four and a half years ago. Today
I am a fairly heavy user.
In the beginning, I felt thrilled that I could actually find the
courage to do something illegal and get away with it. (Pot has
been decriminalized here in Ohio, but it was still totally illegal
when I started.) Having grown up under rather isolated conditions
(rural, lower class), I was also thrilled that this group of people
accepted me and even seemed to like me. That is where my education
began.
The thrill of illegality soon wore off, but since I enjoyed being
high from the beginning, I could see no reason to stop. My self-image
didn't suffer from what I was doing, either. On the contrary;
it began to improve. I felt good when I was high, and one day
it soaked through my thick skull that if I could function effectively
among people when I was stoned, then I ought to be able to do
the same when I wasn't. So I tried. I geared up what little courage
had survived my childhood years, and I tried talking to somebody
without being totally bombed. It worked! From then on I became
increasingly conscious of the effects that smoking was having
on me.
My favorite time for smoking was while making the hour-long drive
to the college I was attending. One day, instead of a useless
stream of facts parading through my befogged brain, those facts
started connecting themselves in a sensible manner. Specifically,
I was ruminating over things I had learned in anatomy and physiology,
and with a flash I understood how all of the different things
we learned were relevant to each other. I realized what it meant
to apply the things that were retained in my mind. All
through my life I had thought learning meant memorizing a bunch
of facts to answer back to the teachers on tests. I was so overwhelmed
by this discovery that I had to pull off the road in order to
give it the serious attention it deserved. I've never forgotten
that lesson. It helped me start pulling myself up from my unhappy
childhood and warped adolescence. (I'm still climbing, but I've
come far enough now to know that I'm going to make it.)
I am now able to use marijuana casually instead of needily. I
no longer smoke to find the courage to do things. In fact, I find
that when I feel shaky in the knees before a new encounter, a
joint may prevent the experience from being fulfilling.
Currently, I smoke almost every day, usually only if I'm feeling
chipper. Marijuana is a mood-enhancer for me, rather than a mood-changer,
and it's a lousy experience if I smoke pot when I'm grumpy or
ill at ease. If I'm about to undertake something that could turn
out to be either a good or a bad experience, I find that if I
concentrate on the possibility of a pleasant time, and get a good
buzz on, it seldom turns out badly.
It goes almost without saying that getting high during an already
pleasant experience increases the pleasure many times. But the
reverse is also true, and a bad experience is made worse by smoking.
I don't smoke in places where I feel uncomfortable, or with people
I don't feel at ease with. I've wasted too many years being depressed,
so I've learned how to smoke in order to exaggerate the good things
in life and minimize the bad. I call it survival.
At the same time, I don't have to smoke pot in order to function.
Every couple of weeks I will go through a period, usually from
one to three days, during which I have no desire to get high.
These times really cheer me too, for they are the signals that
let me know that I can function without artificial aid. 'These
abstinence periods also enable me to more thoroughly enjoy it
when I resume smoking. They are also useful in that I don't harbor
a half-buried fear that the Establishment is right and that I'll
be hooked for the rest of my life. Less guilt equals more fun.
(If I'm hooked on anything, it's food, not pot.)
I'm not a physically inclined person, but even physical activities
are enhanced by smoking. When stoned, I become aware of almost
every bone and muscle in my body, and can follow their alignment
with each other, receiving an anatomy lesson far superior to anything
I learned in my three semesters of high school biology. I experience
the ability to actually feel the parts of my body functioning
together as one smoothly working unit. I've been trying to extend
this awareness consciously to include the involuntary systems
and parts of my body; so far, the success has been small, but
enough to know that in time, with serious effort, I will develop
that ability as well.
The way in which I appreciate music has changed since I began
smoking. I used to listen to music, or rather to the Iyrics of
songs, almost as an addiction, finding in them a reason or justification
for almost everything I thought or did. Now, I hardly know more
than a few words of my favorite songs; instead, I listen to the
music and understand that music is a series of connected sounds
and that they are connected by memory; if you can't remember the
previous note, the next one won't have much meaning.
This sounds obvious, but it is something my music teachers tried
in vain to teach me for years. Until I started getting stoned,
I could not differentiate one instrument from another. Now I can
pick out the different parts that make up one piece of music.
Instead of hearing a big jumble of sound, I can distinguish numerous
small sounds working together. I'm even beginning to be able to
identify a few sounds as coming from a particular instrument,
which is a new adventure for me.
I have come to have a greater appreciation of art in the same
manner. Through looking at pictures while stoned, I have learned
to see the detail, to look for the feelings in pictures. Colors
stand out as more vivid, and slight variations in hues become
more discernible. I have a small book of prints by Salvador Dali,
which I enjoy looking at when I'm stoned. He paints schizophrenia
and other intangible aberrations into visible, tangible pictures.
Marijuana grown in different places has different effects. The
first time I got loaded on Jamaican, I felt as if some oversized
dark-complexioned god was walking through the fields of my mind,
swinging a hammer, tearing down the walls and fences, crushing
out the choking vines of repressed knowledge, feelings, and memories.
I can pinpoint that experience as the point where I started to
believe I could do something intelligent and constructive with
my life.
Mexican taught me how to laugh; or rather, it taught me that it
is okay to laugh. Mexican, of course, was my first high. I learned
that I could relax, that nobody was going to gobble me up. And
I learned that not all humor is malignant, the way it was at home.
Being stoned on Mexican taught me that laughter is essential,
not the laughter that ridicules but the laughter that says, "Hey,
I feel good! The world feels good! And it's okay to feel this
way!" This was something I had not known previously; I laughed
when I was stoned, and when I came down it was still okay.
Colombian is like a cool breeze blowing through the summer midday
of my mind, teaching perseverance, concentration, and the beginnings
of patience. On Colombian, things feel that they are fitting together
more smoothly, as though all of my physical and mental processes
are at last synchronized. I learned to concentrate, to really
concentrate on one thing, to do some really heavy thinking without
feeling like I was some kind of weirdo. I discovered that deep
thinking was actually good for me, that it was a natural tendency
of mine that had been severely repressed from early childhood.
I learned that solutions to problems could be found in my own
mind, that I didn't need somebody else to point the way for me
all the time. And I found out that people who think are not the
sad cases in the world.
Smoking has its disadvantages too. That same Colombian that blows
a cool refreshing breeze can also blow up a hot arid storm. When
this happens, there is nothing I can do except ride it out. Getting
frustrated just makes it more intense and longer lasting. Pressure
builds behind my eyes, and my head becomes hot. Thoughts don't
flow freely. Concentration becomes difficult. \0Ihen this happens,
I just do the dishes or sweep the floors or get involved in some
other physical activity until the storm subsides, as it always
does.
When I'm stoned, my thoughts fly to some pretty strange places.
It's fantastic. The doors in my mind are thrown open wide, and
I'm free to retrieve much more information stored in the library
of gray matter than I can ever manage to tap when I'm straight.
I read a report somewhere that pot affects the user at his memory
switching station. I think the report is right, but I don't find
it to be cause for alarm.
Many of my repressed childhood memories come back to me when I'm
high, and I can see that life is dynamic and not static. I try
to let myself see what went on; before a pattern can be altered,
it must first be sharply defined, and marijuana has given me back
my childhood through memories that were hidden for years. It has
enabled me to begin perceiving and altering the patterns of my
life, making them constructive instead of destructive.
I've always been a reader, and smoking marijuana has helped me
to see the world in more ways than just the printed word. Now
I can also see things in pictures, thoughts, sounds, ideas, emotions,
and physical sensations. It's like when I started getting stoned,
somebody starting letting up the shades on all the windows in
my mind. Now I'm learning to translate knowledge and experience
from one realm to another, just like translating a book from one
language to another. And in the process, I'm coming more together.
6. A Nashville man, a cook, 29
I have been religiously smoking the herb for the past eleven years.
In fact, I'm religiously smoking some delicious gold right now
and the damn joint keeps going out.
Henceforth, let it be known that the word herb will be used for
marijuana. Let me start off by telling you that I have devoted
my life to this herb. It is my religion, my God. My whole world
revolves around it. This may sound sad to you but it's not. I
have lots of fun all the time. I have to admit that it's limiting
at times, but not so much as to inhibit my peaceful coexistence
with this planet Earth.
I am a different human being. Most working-class people start
their day with a cup of coffee in the morning. I start mine with
a joint. No matter what (even when I'm sick), I start the day
with a joint. No matter what. If my lunch break at noon is long
enough I will smoke herb. Usually I will wait till I get home.
If I'm not working, well, that's another story. I will smoke herb
about every three hours. My usual consumption is one fat joint
(about two grams) of uncleaned flowers. I will chain smoke until
it is gone. I don't believe in saving herb. I believe it should
be consumed as fresh as possible (after curing) in order to partake
of the full experience. Consuming stale herb is absolutely sinful
to me. Stale herb has lost 50 percent of its energy or more.
I use herb virtually as a cure-all remedy. Ever since childhood
I have been thin, with a poor appetite to boot. Now I eat with
enthusiasm. I must smoke a joint before each meal or I will have
no appetite at all. Eating stoned is more exciting than eating
straight. Flavors seem to jump right out of the food. Even smells
are more intense.
When I come home from work I must smoke a joint. Work really winds
me up. If I have no herb I will lose my mind. I become very sad
and upset. I cannot relax without it. I become snappish and irritable.
A real monster This happens very rarely for I am a Holy Man amongst
my peers. A Holy Man's job is to always have herb. I will go to
great lengths sometimes to obtain it.
I must smoke a joint before sleep or I will get none. I will often
have an upset stomach and sometimes if I smoke a joint it will
settle it. Herb relieves boredom. Herb will relieve certain types
of mild pain such as aching bone joints when you have the flu.
Me and my old lady will smoke at the movies. Even at the Kiddy
Matinee when we saw Star Wars.
When I write letters stoned I'm less serious and tend to write
about positive things instead of negative ones. I would not think
of attending a live concert without a full stash of herb. Just
unthinkable. When you wake up in the morning with an alcoholic
hangover, try smoking a joint. Notice the difference. I also use
it to make tea and to flavor foods.
I use it because it is wholly gratifying. I like to suck a joint
and fill my lungs with smoke and exhale billowy clouds. I have
used herb to barter for other drugs, food, money and have used
it for a tip for services rendered. Sometimes herb will take a
headache away. Sometimes it will cause one. If I really get stoned
on herb (which is very hard for me since I smoke it all the time)
it will keep me awake when I want to sleep, acting like a stimulant.
I have to smoke Hawaiian or Thai herb to do this.
Speaking of Hawaiian, that's where I would like to live eventually.
Of all the herb that I have smoked I think it's the most perfect
in every way. It is the most unique species of herb that I have
ever encountered. I had an excellent connection for Hawaiian herb
at one point, but alas, all things must pass.
I find that when I'm stoned I can laugh easily at silly things.
Being stoned makes me more childlike. Maybe that's one aspect
of herb that I like when I'm paranoid about being an adult. Adults
are notorious for being too serious about everything. I find that
when I'm serious I tend to worry about things too much. One must
be able to laugh at anything at one time or another. You might
call it a nothing is sacred attitude. It helps keep me smiling.
The one major drawback that I have observed in myself over the
years is that I seem to be very absent-minded with a pronounced
loss of short-term memory. Also a less responsive long-term memory.
Sometimes if I'm hanging out in the living room and decide that
I'm hungry, I'll go to the kitchen and forget what I came in for.
Oh well, everything has its negative points.
God is herb. Herb is God. When you smoke herb, you and God become
one. Everything becomes equal. Smoking is prayer. The more you
smoke the more you are God and you control everything. Smoking
is the holiest act. A true holy person takes the herbal sacrament
as often as he can. It is surely a way to happiness.