Awe is a necessary ingredient for a healthy human psyche, methinks. Without that boundless childlike fascination with at least one thing, one tends to lose their beginner’s mind and become more susceptible to descent into general awfulness. My current thing is something they tell me is called React, which in a nutshell is the electronic equivalent of Lego…
This strain is called Island Pink. It’s a sativa-dominant hybrid with about forty percent kush. The buds are small but very hairy, with a faintly purplish and decidedly odorous toke packed with magically delicious wonder-working power.
This is one of those strains that will glue you to the couch. Even if you’re a seasoned veteran of the holy ganja, such as yours truly. But at the same time, it’s a highly cerebral high. The number of new ideas for the book that came flooding into my brain after two rips of this herb was just staggering. All in all, I quite enjoyed this smoke. I was at peace with the universe. Hardly ever paranoid. There were split-second hallucinations of strange extra-dimensional vermiform creatures at high enough doses, but I was spiritually enlightened enough to recognize those creatures as manifestations of sunyata.
Some of you might be wondering what this (or my previous blog post) has to do with the book. Well, in case you haven’t figured it out by now, SILVER BROWN was largely conceptualized and written by Our Lady of 420. She writes through me. I am merely Her medium. I also do quite a bit of writing whilst not under the influence of anything, except maybe my mandatory morning dosage of two cups of good strong coffee. But when I do, I will usually at some point run it past Mother Ganja, seeking Her wise counsel on how the prose could be improved. She always has something to say.
I’ve had exchanges with many a fellow scribe on Twitter that went something like this…
smoke a bowl
— X. Jupiter Hart (@x_jupiterhart) March 22, 2019
The reactions I get to such a suggestion range from curious amusement to unfettered moral outrage. It’s the thought processes of the latter folk I particularly can’t fathom. I’m one of those people that needs to be awed. Awe is the spinach that fuels my literary Popeye. Verily, she is my muse. Sometimes awe is in tragically short supply in a man’s day-to-day existence, but fortunately Mother Nature has blessed us with a remedy for awe deficiency in the form of the genus Cannabis. It’s not the only remedy, I’ll admit. Far from it. But I’ve fully explored all of The Man’s “socially acceptable” suggested alternatives, and at the end of the day I’d rather just hit the bong and be done with it. I spent twelve years of my life working for a literal psychopath who notoriously went insane and stabbed a dude, so I think I’m entitled to at least one bad habit.
Expanding on the whole awe thing, writing about some band I’m into is an awe-accumulating thing as well. When I am awed, I gain new perspectives on SILVER BROWN that I am suddenly eager to start implementing.
“Chapters are like turds. Some of them just gush out of you, but others require a lot of ass-straining.”
Speaking of which, all the meticulous editing I’ve been doing on Act One of SILVER BROWN is now complete. When Chapters Sixteen and Seventeen finally came together, the rest of it came to me so easily. Chapters are like turds. Some of them just gush out of you, but others require a lot of ass-straining. The first act has a cliffhanger ending with a Big Reveal. Some people will probably need barf bags, like they did with The Exorcist. But even those people will probably still love it.