Yeah, that's not reading as far as I'm concerned. If it was, I'd be able to read at least seven different languages, excluding Japanese and Indonesian transliterated syllabaries; and, I do even not consider myself bilingual. Anyone who is reasonably intelligent is capable of surmising a fair amount of meaning from a text written in another language assuming they are versed in another of the same linguistic family. Eg: germanic; or, latinate. The only thing preventing the majority of the population from doing so is the pointlessness of such a venture. Hence, your mother’s inadequate patience when sober.
Given sufficient amounts of marijuana I am quite content to trace the patterns of my wallpaper: marvelling in the symmetry, or lack thereof; while navigating tiny tears and imperfections in the paper. On acid I might even go so far as to contemplate a seam, where two sheets are connected imperfectly and the pattern contradicts itself, and decide that it is a weak spot in the illusion of life; convinced, beyond reason, of the irrefutable profundity implied by such a discovery.
To read something, such as a novel, implies a broader level of comprehension than deciphering commonalities between languages; misinterpreting, or placing undue significance on, psychedelic thought patterns – after achieving sobriety – is a good way to kick-start a psychotic episode.
If you smoke marijuana for the first time and believe you have miraculously inherited the ability to read and comprehend another language, I’d say that’s a pretty clear indication of a pre-disposition towards drug-induced psychosis. I’m not a psychiatrist, but I have – both personally and vicariously – experienced, and grown accustomed to, psychosis. I’ve worked in the mental health industry for over a decade; and I am a (barely) functioning un-medicated psychotic drug addict.
If you are particularly prone to fanciful ideas; if your dreams bleed into the logic of your waking life; if you are a fundamental optimist, or an utterly miserable sceptic; if you have uncompromising faith in the existence of – a specific image of – God; if you have ever made a decision based upon a horoscope, or any other psychic prediction; basically, if you are a dreamer: you are more prone to developing psychosis. Placing unwarranted significance on semantic distinctions between the perception of the sober mind and the stoned mind – such as, what it means to read – implies a readiness to both believe and disbelieve.
Often drug-users deny the correlation between psychedelic drugs, including marijuana, and psychosis; despite the fact that it is based on statistics gathered from psychedelic drug users. This blind insistence, that certain drugs are harmless: it not only compromises the integrity of our anti-Drug-War protests; it endangers us. In the name of harm reduction, and legalization, we must not be “pro-drug”; we should be anti-anti-drug and anti-pro-drug; to ignore the negative consequences of recreational drug use is no less ignorant or reprehensible than ignoring the benefits.
I have observed a correlation between psychosis and psychedelic drugs, including marijuana; I have also observed a correlation between psychosis and the consumption of massive quantities of, and the prolonged use of, non-psychedelic drugs. Moderate use of psychedelic drugs is far more likely to result in a prolonged – or permanent – psychotic episode, than moderate alcohol consumption. To insist that marijuana is harmless, contrary to the documented evidence; to claim conspiracy, on the part of the anti-drug crowd, when confronted with said evidence: this is hypocrisy.
The drug war should not be a war, intellectual or otherwise; it should be a debate. War has occurred throughout history, in the name of religion. Arguably all wars are either religious in nature, or justified by religion. The stronger our beliefs, the more we defend them. We fight to defend absolutes; and, as long as two opposing “fundamental truths” exist, we will continue to fight.
Religious fundamentalists are afraid of being wrong; and atheists are no different: one should not commit to an answer, when posed with an unanswerable question. One may be inclined towards a particular answer, based on their observations. Agnosticism includes believers and non-believers; they just don’t know what they believe, or what they don’t.
Regardless of inclination; regardless of what we want to be the truth: we must remain neutral.
Most drug users contribute to the perceived need for anti-drug legislation. Drugs are bad for you; if you don’t embrace this, you are an enemy of the legalization movement. I, too, am an enemy of legalization.
Legalization requires more than neutrality: acknowledging the benefits and dangers of substance abuse does not change the fact that hundreds of people die from overdoses every day; we must, every one of us, also personify harm reduction. We are the human ambassadors of Chemistry.
Drug-users, assuming the countenance of disgruntled infants, complain that the media “never talks about the benefits of drug-use,” implying – I suppose – that the media are in on the government conspiracy; this logic, of course, could be applied to the majority of journalistic pursuits throughout history. Journalism has always capitalized on tragedy: there are more reports of deaths than births; it doesn’t matter how people die. Does this mean journalists are vultures and grave robbers, rather than conspirators? No. Fear mongers, perhaps; but it is supply-on-demand fear.
The result of pursuing happiness is miserable death. We focus so heavily on the positive aspects of life, especially in the Western world, that we lose our ability to process the negative. Depression, therefore, is chronic and debilitating; death is unjust and horrific.
We do not need to be reminded of life: it serves no purpose; we are familiar enough with it, already. We do, however, need to be reminded of, and exposed to, our mortality. Reports about celebrity overdoses serve as effective warnings; our dead drug idols reminder us that we are not immortal.
It is not morbid fascination that compels us to slow down when we drive past traffic accidents. Overdose is a social issue; euphoria is not. Nobody wants to see a news report about a bunch of people partying when they turn on the news, for the same reason we don’t want to see footage of a dormant volcano; or a passenger jet that wasn’t hijacked.
The argument could be made – since drug-use is illegal and users are forced to hide – that the benefits are unknown; and, therefore, warrant documentation. As if, to be fair, every topic must be covered from every angle. This, too, is a childish argument. Whether or not ecstasy feels good in the short-term is irrelevant, as far as legalization goes; the only effects that are relevant are the long-term effects that it has on health and society. If journalists were free to investigate the underground world of illegal drugs, they would continue to focus on the negative.
Everybody knows that drugs are euphoric; they make you fuck longer; they increase stamina; improve one’s ability to dance; reduce inhibitions; induce meditative states; and inspire creatively. You don’t have to be a drug user to be aware of the positive benefits. When I was a kid, I listened to Eric Clapton sing about Cocaine; the Beatles sing about LSD; and the Velvet Underground sing about Heroin. Later, I read William Burroughs; Irvine Welsh; Hunter S. Thompson; and, Hubert Selby Junior. These artists – my drug idols – they inspired me to become the junky that I am today.
Art is the only significant positive impact drugs have had on society. The rest of us, non-artists: the only contribution we make is negative. The only way to improve the reputation of drugs, therefore, is to be responsible and reduce the negative; to not contribute towards public opinion at all.
Today, I contributed to the tainted reputations of intravenous drug use and marijuana.
I’ve been shooting methamphetamines every day for about three weeks. I went to the doctor after developing thrombosis, a condition that causes clotting of the blood, in both arms. My veins have accumulated a fair amount of damage. Needless to say, there are substantial track marks.
Today, I left the house – carrying a beer and a joint – with a short sleeve shirt on. It wasn’t accidental; I did it because I’m sick of having to disguise myself. Having just sprayed two syringes full of blood and meth down the back of my throat, on account of my veins being impossible to find, I drank the beer without stopping to breathe. My neighbour observed as, between the front door and the letterbox, I drank an entire beer with my discoloured – bruised and bloody – arm.
When I got to university, I lit the joint. The campus was relatively empty. On the way to the library, I passed maybe thirty or forty students. Less than a quarter of them noticed; those who did would be able to confirm to themselves the false notion that “marijuana is a gateway drug, leading to heroin.” Despite how much I hate misleading information like this, I validate it. We all do – Junkies, Addicts – we all fuck up, once in a while. We overdose; develop psychosis; neglect to pay our bills; end up in rehab; lose too much weight; fuck up relationships; miss too much work. And, we think, nobody knows about the habit: because we apply make-up to the bags under our eyes and apply medicated drops to our bloodshot irises; because we use incense to cover up cannabis, and blame the weight loss on vegetarian diets; because we wear long sleeves. You don’t do any of this for their benefit, or for the legalization movement. No. You do it, whatever you consider necessary for deniability’s sake, because you have to. As long as nobody can prove it, and you’re not holding: there is no chance of any legal consequences; and, you’re not going to lose your job. All you need is a thin veil for a disguise; all you need is deniability.
The few addicts who manage to conceal their lifestyle, and never slip up; those users that never contribute to negative perceptions: you’re not contributing to the positive either. The only impact we have, is negative. Obviously, it varies. Maybe your contribution is small. It’s probably smaller than mine. But your life has probably been fucked up, at some point, in more than one way. People are observant; even if it’s subtle, somebody – a co-worker, friend, or family member who secretly suspects you – will cross-reference you with everyone they’ve ever suspected. Maybe your teeth are yellower than they should be, or you’re always light on cash; maybe you’re prone to, otherwise, inexplicable bouts of depression; maybe your house is a shit hole; maybe it’s something innocent, like nosebleeds. It doesn’t matter. People aren’t stupid; those who pick up on it probably won’t accuse you, on account of the deniability, but they will put two and two together.
Finally, the users who ensure that their lifestyle is undeniable: while still maintaining legal deniability. Raver types, their limbs wrapped with glow-sticks, talking three hundred words a minute at three o’clock in the morning; their tongues flicking the back of their teeth; skin covered with sweat. And junkies: junkies live like there is no tomorrow. Not in the sense that they live life to the fullest. No. They live with reckless disregard life. They live, as if they have no future. I have eaten maybe five meals in the past two weeks. My ribs hang over my stomach. I walk with a limp. Rather than washing my hair, I wet a towel and rub it across my shaved head. When I sleep, every three or four days, I lie face down on the hard floor without a pillow; my cheekbones are bruised from lying in this position.
The world’s negative perspective of illicit substances: it’s not a government conspiracy; it’s our reflection. There are a lot of non-drug users who frequent this website on a regular basis, including – I’m sure – the media and authority figures from various drug enforcement agencies. The guest count is way higher than the member count, at any given time. This website functions as a window into the life of the dope fiend; and, I’m not convinced that we’re making much of an effort to fight the fight. We practice harm reduction. But we wear short sleeves. The internet’s anonymity makes deniability optional. We don’t have to hide here, so we don’t. We do the opposite. We write trip reports that have nothing to offer, in terms of harm reduction; we brag about, and glorify, our misuse; we make sloppily constructed, shameless, and morally void posts; we post while high. If a fundamental anti-drug person – already grounded in their version of the truth – logs on here, they will discover more than enough ammunition; re-affirming their faith in the war, will be no difficult task.
Taking no consideration into how your words and your actions impact on the global perspective of the world’s oldest sub-culture; only exercising deniability, shame, and restraint, to protect yourself; and, hiding only when you are likely to be caught: this is fine. But, don’t fucking complain that the world isn’t fair; don’t declare conspiracy; don’t protest the war like some kind of pacifist, if you’re really a soldier; don’t insist upon the harmlessness of drugs or deny the negative consequences they have had on your life: if you’re going to reveal yourself, do it. Be honest.
Saying, “marijuana (or: insert any other drug, here) is harmless,” when it has been definitively proven otherwise, contributes towards delusion; towards a careless consequence-free attitude; towards new users, who are potentially prone to adverse reactions, exercising little restraint. Advocating drug use for the entire populace is as irresponsible as a doctor writing a prescription without considering a patient’s allergies or medical history.
If you contribute towards public opinion by blatantly denying the negative consequences of drug abuse, in order – perhaps – to re-affirm your complete denial of the toll your lifestyle has had on you, so far; if you do that: you are resorting to the same fundamentalist bullshit that you object to.
Just be honest with yourself. Admit it: that sometimes, you disregard your physical health; you go too far; or, you get so high it scares you; and, you wonder what your life would have been like if you’d never had that first puff or drink or needle.
A big contributor towards substance abuse and self-harm, is this inbuilt defence mechanism that addicts develop. When I started taking drugs, my parents practically disowned me. I was the third of three sons to develop a taste for altered states of mind, so I got it worst. Having already written my brothers off, to some extent, all of their hopes were invested in me. When they first discovered I got high, fifteen years ago, it was like they didn’t have any more children. Society – their teachers, the media, and my grandparents – taught them about the hopelessness of addiction; about how addiction was a death sentence. Back when there actually was a conspiracy; when propaganda films depicted stoners as homicidal maniacs.
My parents were fundamentals, fighting for the other side. It was frustrating, because – although, I didn’t want to be at war with them – they weren’t willing to consider any perspective other than their own. They offered me their absolute truth, on the matter: drugs, they said, are evil; this, coming from a conservative couple, who had never so much as smoked a joint. The benefits of altering one’s consciousness were clear as day to me. I instantly fell in love with marijuana. How could they tell me it was wrong; did they not respect the opinions of a teenager, was that it; did they think me deluded; did they think me an idiot? I didn’t consider the possibility that they were right; I mirrored their stubbornness: firmly establishing myself as a fundamental, in my own right. They completely denied the benefits; and, I completely denied the potential for harm.
Now, I contribute towards anti-drug fundamentalism in future generations of parents. I don’t tell the world that drugs are evil; I show them. I am a living example, why people should “say no.” I am the homicidal dope fiend, made flesh. I’m not part of the war anymore; I am not in denial; but, I make no excuses for my lifestyle. I don’t feel guilty for contributing towards the negative reputation of drug users; because I am not convinced that drugs should be legalized.
The few drugs that are legal should be controlled.
Alcohol, like heroin, is far too dangerous to warrant any degree of socially acceptability.
To smoke tobacco is to defy one’s life: it has the least benefit of all drugs, and the greatest risk; the ratio of effect to addiction is off the charts in the wrong direction. Those who can’t quit don’t really want to; addiction is convenient: smoking is a socially acceptable form of suicide.
These legal drugs illustrate man’s tendency towards addiction and his inability to self-regulate behaviour. Alcohol and tobacco should be seen as warnings. If heroin was legal and commercially available, consumption would increase; and, consequently, lives would be ruined. Quality control measures and industry standards might prevent the probability of overdose, but more people will be using. Who knows: maybe in the end it would balance out; maybe the death rate would remain the same. All I know is: if heroin was legal, I’d go buy some tomorrow; so, thank God it isn’t.
I have many lost friends, and lovers, to sobriety. How easily people were brainwashed by the conspiracy: all the more reason, I decided, to reinforce the Absolute Truth, and dig my heels in.
Now, I fear that – one day – I, too, will admit the error of my ways; and, renounce this destructive lifestyle. Part of me wants to do it now: to give up, once and for all, and, go to rehab. Sometimes I wish my family would organize an intervention; I curse them, for not caring enough to intervene. It would be so much easier, if I didn’t have a choice. It pains me that I have to admit defeat after so long; yet, with every sunset, I approach that fearful sober day... and, as time runs out, my use spirals out of control.
For, these are the end of days; these are the last drugs I will consume.