Someone just packed a cone, sparks up a lighter and takes a long drawn hit from their bong. The noise of the bubbles is surprisingly loud and cuts through the silent crowd. As the smoke is drawn from the cone piece, down through the hose, and up through the water filter, the stoner holds the smoke in their lungs for as long as they can before exhaling a thick cloud of respired fumes, the result of natural alchemy.
The philosophers stood back, their eyes red and hazy, as the little king raised a chubby finger and squealed “stoned!”
The crowd descended on the figure and threw their rocks at her, marking her with bruises, whipping her with words. The verbal lashings foreshadowing the eventual lashings across her arms she would learn to do herself in another life, another time.
I don’t smoke pot. It’s stinky.
I am full of sin. I am the embodiment of sin. All I do is sin. And there is no redemption for me. Not that I think I am undeserving of god’s love or whatever…
I just… I don’t want it. I’ve seen what he does “in the name of love“. Sure it starts off romantic, but eventually becomes obsessive and possessive, jealous, violent, angry… extreme measures to counter extreme expressions in fits of passion…
I want a family man, not one who kills his fucking kid for arseholes who are undeserving.
Are we god, or are we children of god? We are the children of men. Decide for yourself who you are, who it is you follow, and why you are on that path?
I made my heaven and turned it to hell. And no matter how I try to manifest heaven again, I’m reminded these are all just states of mind and perception… for I am on earth where both exist at once. And… I would rather not exist at all if I cannot escape nor transcend my own transgressions….