I can take sage leaves, probably the oil too actually except it's simply not nearly as efficient as peppermint rosemary or eucalyptus for rapid mucus expectoration which is my primary need and it's vital I use the strongest guns the most optimum ways, which I have developed with ingenuity and practice re actual inhalation and fast allergy mucus evacuation.Sage and lavender dry leaves is ideal methinks
Broke but a friend bummed me some tobacco, feel fragileOh Dear
She folded her arms and lay down, her shape forming that of a sarcophagus; was she already dead? Her make-up was drawn on just so and her clothes tailored and matched. A chic outfit from the rack of some Haute-couture fashion house. It was red velvet number, some frivolous buy – complete with a price tag with an unhealthy number of zeros – and Blahnik heels.
She felt hollow as she stared at four walls that seemed to lean in on her. Who the fuck was she doing this for anyways? She had asked herself this a thousand times. Her Father had always been a stern man, a domineering career man, a harsh man – a psychiatrist. She certainly didn’t do it for him, the bastard. He was a bastard and maybe that’s what made him so insecure. Her mother? Her mother was a pez-dispenser-ditz, a compendium of too much time, too much money, too few real friends and too many little-helpers. Mommy dearest, oh Mommy dear, Liz thought to herself.
She was always precocious as a child, you might say Liz was one of those sensitive kids – the type that build and shape up layers around themselves, only to have the veneer scratched away by themselves and the passage of time. These slowly unwoven cocoons, these patchwork threads of human-beings. She smoothed out a ruffle in the fabric with her immaculately manicured cuticles. A bubble caught in her throat. Chocked up. Why was she so weak?
She slapped her face. Why couldn’t she feel anything? She slapped her face again. She slapped her face harder this time. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Her eyes smarted but she felt numb. A tear, a solitary river wound its way through foundation and blush. Liz got up and searched for her little snuff box. Damn her father! Damn the bastard for treating her like some kind of Guinea pig and not as his child. A new estuary formed on her face as she frantically ripped through the mess that was her life. Her life, these things were her and she was these things. It was true she thought, the things you own end up owning you.
Found it! It was on the vanity the entire time. She opened the little snuff box, a little silver piece, her Grandmother’s. Oh, if only Granny could only see her now. She fished out a few pills from her little treasure chest. If only Granny could see her now. She had passed away when she was twelve and she was the closest she had ever come to something real, someone who just “was” and someone who wasn’t putting on airs. Cheap, vapid air. People bound up in layers of Gucci and no class and class-As and the Hamptons. Cheap people, disposable friends made up of stuff.
Liz glanced up to the mirror. She did it to check her make-up, at least that was the principle, but really, she was checking to see if she existed. Her mother flashed before her eyes and the mirror left her wanting; was she already dead?
I’m resilient thoughHere's another one if anyone is interested...
Corner Boy
Troy stood on the corner shaking. Tendrils of damp warmth crept up from man-hole covers and he stomped his feet. It wasn’t easy being a corner boy and he knew that his ticket could get punched at anytime. Red and blue, red and blue “One-time! One-time!” His boy Clarence yelled out from up the block. He could see the patrol cars racing up towards him. Not again, not again…Clarence thought to himself. His eyes wandered to the café on the corner, to the white people with nothing better to do than type away on their I-whatevers and sip expensive coffee. Shook, Tory wasn’t shook but he was fucking cold. “One-time! One-time!” Troy stuffed the dope in his mouth and said a silent prayer.
Tires screeched and somewhere in the distance an icicle hit the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces. “The fuck you want pigs?” Troy spat with malice. He had a practiced mouth that could hold a few hits and hurl a few insults at the same time. “Up against the wall motherfucka!” Troy barely stood a chance as two huge mountains of men grabbed him and shoved his face against rough brickwork.
Troy went to his happy place in these times, or rather, his reflective place. How he ended up here was nothing new, his story nothing special. He grew up in the projects and he saw that the guys in the game had at least a little more than the know-nothing honest peasants he saw shuffling around; lost souls. “Spread your fucking twig legs before I break the shit” These were the same old words the pigs re-hashed and shoved into his eardrums every other day. No creativity, Troy thought to himself.
Snap – snap- snap. Were more icicles falling to the ground? Snap-snap-snap. No fuck, these were gunshots! He looked up to see Clarence on the roof, flash-flash-flash. “Jesus Christ! There’s some fucking nigger shooting at us from the roof top, call it in!”
Troy remained rooted to the spot, he was still in his happy place, or should I say, reflective place. He thought about his mother, his mother, a crackhead, a hoe, a trick whatever the fuck you want to call it. He felt bad for himself for a moment, but just a moment; the streets have no pity.
The pressure was gone from his arms, his face was still numb and he could taste a little blood on his bruised lips. The crack of a gunshot next to him and then another and another. Bang-bang-bang. BANG-BANG-BANG. Troy was ripped from his reverie and driven back into his cold harsh reality. He could hear screaming. Who was screaming so damn loud? Red was slowly pooling around Clarence on the snowy rooftop. His breathing was labored and painful.
Troy realized he was the one screaming, screaming because of his station in life, screaming because he never had a choice, screaming for his mother and his aborted brothers and sisters and screaming for Clarence, the closest thing to a brother he ever had. “Stop screaming you fucking animal, shut the fuck up!” BANG! A bullet narrowly missed Tory’s head. The cop cars pulled away, the snow crunching beneath the tires. Troy stood on the corner, shaking.
Release your synapse
Pull on chords of memory
Unweave a frayed yarn
I’m using a fake .38 special as part of my James Bond costume for Halloween lol. I’d like to get a real one some day, wonder what the regs are for the Netherlands to get a hunting license
Buy dem homeless boats
Ships passing in the night time
Shelter the lost souls
Shelter the lost souls
Black lotus tea from white mug
Lost and found dreaming
Lost and found dreaming
Tangled and bound by black sheep
Lucid pillow fort
Lucid pillow fort
Dog chases a white rabbit
Insomniac stage
Insomniac stage
Shakespeare says we’re all players
Coffee aroma
Marionette on a string to the bamboo thing
Macro in the Forrest Microsoft in da streets
Keep it BK38 cuz you know that I’m sweet
.38 special, but more like a drum mag
Swag with no money and still get the honey
Get to fucking all night energize me, bunny
Had some close shaves and dodged me some knives
The scars tell the story cuz I’m down to ride
Riptide
Whip when I need it but I’m lookin for cream
Holes in my pants, a dollar - dream. Shoe boxes of guap
Rubber bands and hip hop beats
All I really need is some shoes on my feet
Never
Accept when fallin but always stand tall - Taliban burka stall
Keep it shifty and best keep your gears in check si
Sour and sweet and get up like John Wick
Burning a candle both ends so you know it smell thick
Say less move more cuz you know that I’m slick
Stick
Incense in your holster, bic in your hand
Better pray you ain’t prey to them ghost busters man
Spooky vibes in the trap, watch your back
Lay you down in Chiraq. 36 chambers and all of em filled
Shout out to the Wu up in NYC
Time to peace out and smoke the tree.
Whip when I need it but I’m lookin for cream
Holes in my pants, a dollar - dream. Shoe boxes of guap
Rubber bands and hip hop beats
All I really need is some shoes on my feet.
RIP Mac Miller, the Nikes on my feet keep my cypher
Died too young but the one in front of the gun live forever.
Coffee aroma
Sleeping dog lays in the sun
Scattered thoughts abound
I love to learn how to grow Cannabis outdoors, as well as lavender. Any pro gardeners feel free to chime in. @negrogesic @Snafu in the Void @mal3volent. On 20mg Valium, 2 cans of French and Dutch beer. Might have a cognac too. Dreaming about my humble garden. BUMP!
I’m your guy if you want some inconspicuously grown weed outdoors. I wouldn’t mind some opium in the garden and to scour just like they do in Myanmar, Afghanistan etcDon't much about that, but if you're trying to grow opium poppies in your shower, I'm your man
Charlie Sheened that shit with my tiger blood eyes and found it. Praise Buddha cheese.
Saladfingerwords - word salad while using hand signals