The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

A Digital Fossil Exhibit

This is actually not the first blog I’ve ever started. I’ve created about half a dozen of them in my lifetime, but none of my former blogs presently exist. Most of them were shut down voluntarily by me a few months after launching. Usually out of boredom. Or maybe because I just couldn’t be arsed to do the work involved in creating and maintaining a blog. It was one of those reasons. This current blog has already outlasted every blog I’ve done before, so it’s got that going for it at least.

I archive most of what I create, and remnants of former blogs still exist in my personal digital vaults. Here’s a titular wordmark I created for the header of one of my old attempts…

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Rough translation: “The Brainfart Place”. I wrote it another language and used a fancy script font to make it an elegant brainfart place.

…and here’s a banner I created for somebody else’s blog (which also no longer exists)…

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There’s also this skull banner I did once, although I can’t for the life of me remember what blog I did this for…

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Lastly, I give you this collection of photographic evidence from that time five years ago when I created a (working!) ganja pipe from a jalapeño pepper. One that had just the right shape to be used for such a purpose. All it needed were exactly two incisions…

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There’s my trusty old laptop Lucille in the background, who has since retired to the great network in the sky. #RIP

Despite being refrigerated at all times when not in use, the jalepeño pipe only lasted for a few days before it started rotting and I had to retire it. But it was an interesting experiment while it lasted. This pipe imparted a zesty Tex-Mex flavour to the smoke. At least it did while it was still fresh. Then decomposition set in and it started tasting more like Taco Bell…

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The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

Summer Dies With A Bullet

This is my new pipe. The one I got to replace the peace pipe, which vanished from my life after a mere four months of service. The departed elders of this land confiscated it for their own use (which most certainly is their right) the day after I made a pilgrimage to a local tipi to make an offering of holy smoke. I guess they liked what they smelled.

Suddenly finding myself in want of a new portable smoking implement of some type or another, I got this thing. It’s a sneak-a-toke — a similar model to my old silver bullet, except red with a different style of mouthpiece. I call this one the Blood Bullet. It’s a silver bullet that’s killed a few vampires.

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The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

My New Dog Whistle

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My trusty silver bullet. Rest in peace, little guy. 2018-2019

My other favourite holiday is coming up. Merrie 4/20 everybody. At the slight risk of pooping the party, it is with a heavy heart I announce that my go-to smoking implement is no more. Thankfully, I speak not of my bong Her Majesty, who is resting comfortably in her royal chambers until such time that she is summoned by the Parliament of Summer to make her grand entrance and throne speech at the state opening of patio season. No, I’m talking about my other pipe. My trusty silver bullet. I accidentally dropped it in a dumpster.

As many of us know, The Man has been oppressing and persecuting smokers for decades now, and because I’m such a slimy piece of worm-ridden filth, he won’t permit me to partake of my bad habit in convenient areas that are continuously well-sheltered from the wind, like the inside of my own apartment. Hence, I must necessarily go outside to see a man about a dog, regardless of whatever inconveniences the elements pose to hinder or frustrate the smoking experience.

The wind was being particularly inconvenient while I was out having a wake n’ bake in my usual neighbourhood. Inconvenient enough that I couldn’t get my lighter to stay lit long enough to toke. In order to remedy that situation, I tried leaning inside a nearby dumpster, so I could make use of its large lid as a barrier against the tormenting gusts. The ploy worked like a charm the first time I tried it, but when I attempted the same technique to smoke the last of the resin left in the bowl, I accidentally dropped the whole damn pipe. One moment it was clenched in my teeth, so I could have both hands free to work the lighter. The next moment it had plummeted to the bottom of the dumpster like an aluminum stone. There was a layer of negligence somewhere in between those two moments; I was admittedly a lot more mellow on the second attempt.


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The silver bullet’s final resting place. At some distant point in the future when we at long last have world peace, this might be a holy pilgrimage site where people will go to leave offerings of sacred phalluses.

I did briefly consider climbing into the dumpster to retrieve the pipe, but ultimately decided against that. Too legally risky. Especially with all those security cameras around. I can smoke ganja in plain view of those cameras and not get arrested, because this is Canada. But climbing inside a dumpster is another matter entirely. The local authorities might not take as kindly to that.

So instead of going through the trouble to get the old pipe back, I opted to simply buy a replacement. Smoking implements of this type are not expensive; I only paid five dollars for the silver bullet, and it’s not far-fetched to assume I should be able to pick up something similar for similar. Why, there just happens to be a head shop literally right around the corner from that dumpster! Ain’t Canada grand?


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Should you drop in, don’t mention anything to them about me. I’ve been told I’m not young and pretty enough to be a social media influencer.

I would go there later that day to pick up this snazzy new red thing on my keychain…


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If you were born after the summer of 1989, this keychain is most certainly older than you. Now get off my lawn.

This is one of those stealth pipes, of the type that will be increasingly seen as charmingly quaint as more and more people and governments reject Nixonian pruditude and awaken to the healing powers of Our Lady of 420. Not quite an exact replacement, but the closest approximation the local head shop had in stock at the time. It’s similar to the silver bullet in that it’s small and sturdy and can be easily tucked away in a pocket and forgotten about when not in use. Close enough for me.

At first glance, it looks like an ordinary pocket flashlight. Of the type that people are less and less wont to carry these days, on the grounds that flashlights are as common a feature on modern smartphones as cameras. Like I said, charmingly quaint.


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But wait… why does it have a hole in the side of it like that? Aha! It’s not a flashlight! It’s a Transformer!


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This guy packs quite the mean punch for such a little thing. More than the silver bullet did. Way more. After two tokes from this Transformer, it dawned on me immediately that the silver bullet was a very utilitarian pipe. Not a peace pipe. It was not an esoteric whistle to call out to the animal spirits and departed elders who continue to roam Turtle Island. No, it was just a pipe. Just a metal chamber with a rubber mouthpiece, and nothing more. A training wheel the vehicle of my mind no longer had any use for, now that it had grown wings of fire, its motor roaring with the vibrations of ten thousand thunders. Verily, the silver bullet had died and resurrected as a phoenix reborn. I now had a god whistle. Like a dog whistle, only backwards.