020710

This installment is brief because my mother died Thursday, not unexpectedly, but shockingly nevertheless.

_____

This week I purchased a nice vaporizer. It's now possible for me to enjoy all the benefits of THC, and they are legion for MS, _without having to smoke anything_. It's a little known fact that the THC in marijuana "volatilizes" at a much lower temperature (350-365 degrees) than burning temperature. What's left when finished vaporizing resembles _toasted_ reefer; it's definitely not ashes. The taste is out of this world. Having used vaporizers before, I know that when you have to switch back to smoking, for whatever reason, what you taste tastes exactly like an ashtray. Vaporizing gives a better high because there's no smoke buzz. It takes a little while to get used to vaporizing but once you do there's nothing better. If you know someone who, like me, is forced to take marijuana due to illness, do them a big favor and get them to switch to vapor instead of smoke.

*Poem*

Ma

She was a lady.

She possessed acid-tongued,

put-you-in-your-place.

touch-me-not intelligence,

or wickedness; not sure which.

She wanted the best for her children,

and she was prepared to suffer

injustice, misery, and life

without in order to achieve it.

I see this now; it was all for

the good of her children.

What extremes she went to,

to be admired, to be feared,

to be exactly who she dreamed.

She was so strong

she once stared a rabid man down;

he walked up to her expecting

to meet someone he could punch;

the glare that met him

which spoke of his not existing

forced him to walk around her.

If a person were to ascribe to

an idea at odds with her,

with her idea of herself,

with her vision of the right

and good, with her sense of

justice, that person simply

would cease to exist

in her precarious world.

She was forever on the edge

of being found out,

of people knowing she was not

the elegant woman she made herself

out to be, of folks knowing

her ugly truths.

As beautiful as she was,

she was also ugly, she had ways

no one would want to face,

she was vicious when necessary.

Above all, she was my mother,

the lady who absorbed all

my shock, my dismay that the ways

of us are so terribly callous,

my not understanding any whys.

She was my mother.

*Quotations*

A person starts dying when they stop dreaming.

--Brian Williams

Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily.

--Napoleon

After your death you will be what you were before your birth.

--Arthur Schopenhauer

The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.

--Samuel Clemens

Nothing will die; all things will change through eternity.

--Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Gertrude was always right.

--Hemingway

I guess I'm just an old mad scientist at bottom. Give me an underground laboratory, half a dozen atom-smashers, and a beautiful girl in a diaphanous veil waiting to be turned into a chimpanzee, and I care not who writes the nation's laws.

--SJ Perelman

Dear ones, EASE UP. Pump the brakes. Take a step back. Seriously.

Take two steps back. Turn off all your electronics and surrender

over all your aspirations and do absolutely nothing for a spell. I

know, I know--we all need to save the world. But trust me: the

world will still need saving tomorrow.

--Elizabeth Gilbert

The artist, like the God of the Creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.

--James Joyce

I don't know why I do what I do. If I did know, I probably wouldn't feel the need to do it. Surely it is an odd way to spend your life--sitting alone in a room with a pen in your hand, hour after hour, day after day, year after year, struggling to put words on pieces of paper in order to give birth to what does not exist--except in your head. Why on earth would anyone want to do such a thing? The only answer I have ever been able to come up with is: because you have to, because you have no choice.

--Paul Auster

*poem*

København

My buddies and I met a Finnish fellow

in Copenhagen. We met at the Carlsberg

brewery, and part of the show was

Budweiser brewed under license of

Carlsberg--I remember it being the best

beer I've ever had. We all were just

hanging around for the day,

waiting to catch an evening train,

so we decided to spend it together.

We started in a park smoking hash

that we'd picked up in Amsterdam.

Then we wandered, and our Finnish friend

didn't stop drinking all day.

I hear I matched him one for one.

And the Finnish can really drink.

I remember nothing about the day,

except for the very beginning.

Well, I also remember, clearly,

puking my guts out as we

pulled out of the station

(you see, in Scandinavia,

any person you might meet,

the elderly included, can easily

drink an American under the table).

And our friend, whose name escapes me,

was bawling on the platform, sobbing,

saying over and over, "I really love

you guys." There's nothing quite like

drinking all day, and puking your

guts out at the end, to bring people

close together. We made our way

through Copenhagen once. We were drunk,

blotto, and all I remember is a Finnish

man who drank me under the table.

Peace love and ATOM jazz