I've been progressively getting more excited about cannabis over the past year or so; we had a chat about drugs a while back, I figured we could try one specifically about cannabis.

I've been really enjoying Durban Poison lately, I tend towards feeling compassionate and really loving and open to folks around me, though that depends somewhat on context. Jack Herer and derivatives have been nice as well, but they're more for tasks that need some focus like programming or writing.

I've been trying a couple indica/evening leaning strains lately, but I haven't found one that I've really loved (my ulterior motive for starting this thread).

We should probably start a ~talk.casual, but maybe all talk on tildes is somewhat causal, and that's cool too, Also, this is aspie special interest territory for me, so if y'all don't think about this as much, I can do strain recs if that'd be something that was nice for you. Though, I don't some (relatively) that much, so someone on the internet could probably do that better.

Also, yes, I know that COVID-19 falls under SARS; I already got the gentle warnings from my dad.

(edit: thanks whoever tagged nsfw.drugs! Also the cannabis tag makes more sense as well)

i intended to actually post these like three days ago but that didn't happen because it has to be super fucking late for me to even want to post these and unfortunately they've now aged sufficiently that i categorize them firmly in the "intensely mediocre" column with everything i ever do. unfortunate, tbh. anyways here's stuff:

bűnös

UP AGAINST THE WALL, MOTHERFUCKER—
or i'll shatter your bones
and crush your heart—
to dance with me is to dance
a fine line that wrenches two worlds apart

for on one side there is a hall of saints—
on the other
the brimstone of hell—
and to stay on the side of the hall of saints
is something you'd best do well.

and brave souls that dare toe the line—
that cross it
are mighty thin—
and their ranks are made of anarchists
who commit most grievous sin.

UP AGAINST THE WALL, MOTHERFUCKER—
state your allegiance
to the vaunted line—
or soon you too shall join the ranks
of those who deserve malign.

fáj

when i was seventeen
the panic attacks began.
the nightmares.
the violence. the violence. the violence.

violence is a funny little thing—
insidious, slithering in through one grate
and out the other.
it always begins with little things,
little fantasies in one ear and out the other.
dreams here and there, manufacturing terror and hurt.
invasive thoughts, marching to an intensifying drumbeat.
one offs.

it's not normal to
want to hurt so bad.
it's not normal to
want to cut yourself everywhere,
is it?
to feel those feelings,
to bear them like a cross shackled on your back?
to wish some days you could cut to the bone
even though you're afraid of blood?
to mutilate yourself until you can't feel anymore
even though you know those feelings are irrational?
to wish you could die violently, publicly
even though you're afraid of death?

violence isn't a very funny little thing—
terrifying, inescapable and ever recurring
one night after the other.
it was the little things once,
the little fantasies that used to be but now
consume the dreams, the
waking thoughts, becoming a great crescendo.
every day.

when i was nineteen
the panic attacks were normal.
the nightmares.
the violence.

In the shadows

Like a ghost you hide

In the single most foreign

Corners of my mind

Therapy and pills still

Can’t subside the angelic choir

Of your pretty lies

Promises you made,

The bones I broke

You once took my breath

And now I choke

Jesus let me breathe

Is there hope for me?

.

Now I desire

The obscure

All that reminds

Of being yours

Your oils, poison

My waters, pure

Your love is cancer

There is no cure.

.

I watched my grandfather take his final breaths as he kissed my head and you held my hand. Not two months later you foresaw our end, and decided not to keep me, even as a friend.

And now you’re off, marriage in the plans. I pray your time falls like the sand and hits the bottom of every glass as fast as it can.

I have no home. I’m lost and cold. You promised me a home would grow. We got a dog, and had planned for more. Mouth of this world, a fish at shore you took my breath and killed me slow.

I’m suicidal, I have no hope. I’ve not a gun, don’t have a rope. The only reason I’ve not a note, I’d end it all, I’d end it all.

---

I just want to feel pretty.

Pretty loved and pretty free

But for now I keep to getting

Pretty drunk, it isn’t cheap

But I can afford it/‘s kinda sweet

Too bad you’re not round

To drink with me.

I’d fill the bottle

We’d watch the office

Instead I scar

Until I am solid

An ugly rock

A useless object

I’ll break my stones

And build a coffin

And die in your name

Die in your name.

tw: self-harm; suicide; lost love.

i hit my cigarette

like an abuser hits her wife

because i'm a fucking coward

to afraid to take his life

i've felt love before

i beg it through the strife

but i only find a heart

at the wrong side of a blunt and useless knife

.

and it's only mine

at least there's proof

that i can feel

when blood protrudes.

but that's not "work appropriate"

so i get tattoos

what a shame i can't get paid to die.