pofacedhoe
Bluelight Crew
When I smoke middies I feel fine. A little slow, a little stupid, but also chilled-out.
When I smoke good weed ...
I am walking along and suddenly there is a feeling of opening inside my skull, a physical sensation. And I begin to hear voices. Some of these voices are benign, even actively benevolent. They love me, they are friends and guardians and gurus.
Others hate me. One in particular I mean. It wants a capillary to burst in my head. It wants my heart to beat and beat and beat until it explodes. It wants me to fall over dead. I don't know why it wants me to die. It holds me in contempt and disgust.
Obviously, these voices are all part of me. They were first revealed to me when I mixed acid and weed, and since then, they have returned when I smoke really good weed. Last night I smoked a SINGLE NUGGET of weed which was sold to me as "dro" (hydroponically grown, I'm assuming). My God, the weed smelled and looked delectable. And a single nugget did this to me:
I was walking and the buzzing of the powerlines was eating my skull. It was disintegrating my thoughts. And I realized the voice that hates me is the fault of the powerlines. The powerlines have been laid all over the place, everywhere to render us docile, to create voices of self-hatred, to render humans depressed and bipolar and all the rest. Furthermore, my boyfriend wants to gut me with a knife or shoot me with a gun or throw me off a fucking bridge. My boyfriend wants to shoot me in the fucking head.
As I type all this out it seems ridiculous. But at the time, with the voices cackling and shouting in my head, with the powerlines buzzing and buzzing and buzzing everywhere I went, it seemed absolutely rational. There is an infinite matrix of further subtext and inference and delusion I could relate about what I came to believe last night, which by light of morning seems ridiculous, but which I CANNOT fully discard because it felt so much more REAL than anything happening in so-called real, sober life.
Bottom line being: on weed, I hear voices. I come to believe in malevolent entities and impending death. I feel a sense of the utmost looming doom and of being loathed and of being worthless.
Why doesn't really good weed just chill me out really well the way it does to others?
thc can cactivate and exacerbate latent mental disorders particularly schizophrenia
low grade weed has more thc broken doen into cbd which has been shown to exert an antipsychotic effect http://www.ukcia.org/library/mh_2_review.php
this is why i only like hash especially mild strength old hash(much prefferable to pollen) that others often find boring relaxes me wheras strong skunk makes my mania/depression a million times worse and puts me in a proper rage
if you do get good weed store it for a very long time and you have ellevated cbd content-much more buff. i recently found some that had been in a pocket of my trousers in a peice of paper for over a month in the heat and it was so relaxing
