PRESSURE PRESS ARCHIVE
RETICULATED DAYS IN THE LIVES OF A REGULAR MAN
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What absolutely delicious smoke. Deciduous, Delightfully, Definitely, Damn Delicious. Fresh Resinous Buds. Odor knocking my socks off. Christ.
What a treat on Halloween weekend.
About 10 years ago I knew a guy from work who had this hashish connection come thru a couple consecutive Halloween-time years. Ounces & ounces & ounces. Daily hash hits thru the winter months. Morning, noon, & night; mostly night since I worked 3rd shift. Bunch of us in the warehouse lunch-breaks doing all this hash. I so love the smell of hashish, but unfortunately haven't seen it since back then.
Things change.
I used to love thinking in my 20's about "constant change", that if the very fact of consistency doesn't change then that blows that into an average sort of paradox. All Time changes. Nothing is the same as a moment mirrored by Memory or Eventuality. Humans are galactic reduction.
Thoughts swirled by Solar Breezes, incandescent implosion, nuclear buzz into shivering star-clusters like a drop of milk growing in black water. Misty conglomerations in caves of the brain hung on eon trajectory of Eventuality, which is Current. Cackle electrically, Electrical Zoological Masses. Miniatures of Time.
I need a psychological maid.
Maybe she's marijuana.