Ados sous acide

But if punk rock means never having to say you're sorry, in the long run that makes me no punk rocker.

Love. Love above the disappointment, judgment, fear, and hurt. Love to clear the fog that blinds us, and unlock the shackles that bind us. Life is naught but a journey to achieve love.
Beyond thought, where greatness resides. Anything is possible there.

My god, they invented the Sony fucking Walkman! Can you imagine holy fuck! Oh how we fucking marveled! After you smoke a spliff, you walk to Tree's house for a bowl of beans, put on the headphones, and trip down the street blasting Coltrane into the center of your fucking brain! We couldn't fucking believe it.

acid, weed, heroin, freebase, meth, cocaine, MDA, mushroomz, some weird opiates that you stuck up your ass, and whatever else we could get our hungry mitts on.
it was damn fun and free for a while.
until the heroin sucked everything dry.

The universe gives us the ones we need. And the ones we deserve.

He taught me that it was fun and beautiful to be humble, and that human beings are no more important than rutabagas. That we've got to love with all we are, not for some reward down the line, but purely for the sake of being a loving person, and that creativity was the highest part of ourselves to engage. He pointed out the frivolous and insensitive attitudes that birthed the absurd cruelty of war. His humorous detachment from the world's insane and egotistical violence-"So it goes-my first hint of a spiritual concept.

When he sang those notes, he rebelled against the whole wide world.
I sat there listening and staring out the window, lost in my thoughts as the bus rattled away. I realized that music was a force that brought people together and gave them power. People living outside society need a sound to believe in. A sound that cannot be owned or emulated by squares. It inspires the marginalized and the rebels. It gives a soundtrack to their walk that only they understand. It speaks for people who might not otherwise have a voice.

What's worse, gossip magazines or pot?
Whenever I laid eyes on those gossip magazines, they looked like death, like the worst possible fate was to end up reading that bullshit. A harbinger for an even more pathetic celebrity-centric reality show future, these magazines are designed to make you feel ugly and inadequate, or in turn. encourage a hollow sense of self-worth.
For the next eighteen years, I smoked weed on the regular.