Blah…
What had started out as rare epiphanies was destined to gradually become routine and dull, and I was to grow unquestionably addicted to a ‘reefer madness’ way of life, seemingly destined for oblivion.
As I bumbled along life’s highway, I continued to develop my taste for things jazz, beat, and louche. Tom Waits, Steely Dan, Joni Mitchell, Captain Beefheart, Can, Chet Baker, Miles and ‘Trane, Kerouac, all these cats themselves romanticised a life that was fuelled by sex, drugs, and beautiful music. One problem in my life was that the incessant smoking was eclipsing everything else. There was quite a bit of music, if not always beautiful. But there was far too little sex!
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One of the clichés of any drug use, but marijuana is particularly known for this, is that it’s a ‘gateway’ drug: you start smoking dope, and you wind up trying out all sorts of other and ultimately harder drugs. I don’t be think there’s a hard and fast causal connection here. Rather, what happens is one discovers that this terrible evil one has been warned off turns out to be pretty groovy, so you inevitably think, is this also true for x, y and z?