……… and other drugs.
BLAME CANNABIS
Cannabis, my very best friend, oh how I love this plant. Twice it gave me back my life.
The first time I was 15. Scotty and I wagged school together. We should have pulled out almost immediately but we didn’t, we should have never considered at this time but we did.
We shouldn’t have considered it because Fred, my Dad, was home. Little did I know it would be the second last time I would ever see him. We should have pulled out because not five minutes after walking away from school Mr. Melross rode past us on his bike. Me, being me said ‘G’day Mr. Melross.’ Scotty jabbed me in the ribs. Mr Melross turned around and asked us what we were doing, I made some lame excuse and he continued on his way.
Me and Scotty had a quick chat and decided bugger it, we are into this now, let’s finish it.
We just wondered around mostly, went to a few friends place we knew had a chance would be home and hung out. It was cool, it was relaxed, we completely forgot that we were probably in a heap of shit.
About 12pm we ended up in a shed, I call it the shed of lost boys. Scotty and I were two of the younger in the room, ages ranged up to 20 or so, a good mate Paul was also in the room. All of the boys had tough lives, Scotty and I were doing well compared to many of them, it was hard room to be sitting in, in was a sad room to be a participant of.
The bong came out, I knew what this was, it was cannabis. I knew very little about it, drugs in our house were one of many devils we would get a beating for if we only thought about. My father almost kicked his sister out of the house for taking some sleeping medication or something. My father who himself would sit in the shed with his mates and smoke pot.
16 or so years after this day my Father would be taken into hospital never to come out, dying from complications of a lifetime of drug abuse, septicaemia. His medical record would also show a bunch of diseases related to the environment, Hepatitis C for example. My little brother and I would have to sort out his filthy commission unit while filthy people try to scab anything they can.
It just spoke to me, the smell first, it filled my being, all the ways from my toe nails to the hair on the top of my head. Cannabis was speaking to me, it was my language, I knew something special was about to happen. I just watched it move around the room, watched as the boys faces relaxed, everybodty sat back and all tension was slowly removed from the room. As each boy pulled the bong the safety in our space expanded and expanded, it was so beautiful.
It got to me, I was too busy watching this scene in front of me in awe, I did not know what to do. I tried to light it and nothing happened, tried twice more and no result. Scotty, bless his beautiful soul, opened his eyes (he pulled before me), grabbed my thumb, put it on the hole and said ‘there you go buddy, try now’.
It worked, the cannabis started going into my lungs, I pulled and pulled and pulled. Scotty grabbed my thumb and pulled it off the shotty, the remaining smoked rushed into my lungs and I burst out coughing them up. Everybody laughed, it was clear I had just broken my virginity. I laughed after about 12 minutes of pain. I sat back, closed my eyes and the most special moment of my life, even to this day occured, I felt free for the very first time. For the very time I felt like a child. Tears are in my eyes right now.
There was talk in the room but it was quiet, we all just sat together, our backgrounds and the terrible in our lives didn’t matter. 15 or so boys sat together in a type of freedom that only this magical substance brought to their lives.
The next day Mr. Melross came and talked to me, I told him I handed in a sick note which Mum wrote. She did too, she just didn’t fill the date because I lied about needing it for a previous illness but forgot when it was.
He followed it up, into the first period after lunch he knocked again on the class door and asked to speak to me.
Before I go further, this moment was one of the worst in my life, my trust in men was hanging on by a thread, my ability to speak to them without mumbling was almost non-existant. I was horribly afraid of all men, including, especially, the one I saw when I looked in the mirror, the one that looked ridiculously like the man I most feared, the man who ruined my life, whom I shared the same name, my Dad.
How to this point no teacher had sat me down and had a chat is beyond me when I reflect back. How they did not see the essence of a young boy being torn apart in front of their eyes I do not understand.
I was an amazing student until the end of year seven. School, the physical stuff was awesome, loved it but the academic stuff was so simple, so ridiculously easy. No matter what was put in front of me I absorbed like honey on an ant’s nest, It was a breeze and I loved it. Mathematics, I could do most of the stuff in my head before the teacher finished reading out the equations, a jet.
By the time this day with Mr. Melross occured I was destroyed, I was not even a shadow of that boy. My studies suffered, my sport suffered, my ability to sit still in any way suffered. God, I was afraid. The photos from when I was little to 15 show my deterioration. I deleted every photo, every memory, the progression to what I became is impossible for me to see without breaking apart, it stays in my head but I only see it when I need to. I break apart because not a single person in my life, adult person, said a word to anyone along the way, nobody asked me if I was okay.
Mr. Melross told me to go to the office, he had called Fred and he was on his way to pick me up. This is the very moment that everything fell completely apart, how he could not see in my face how afraid I became in that very instant I will never know. He did nothing, turned his back and walked away. If ever a boy needed a hug, any support at all that was it.
I walked to the office, sat down, I wanted to bawl my eyes out. I did not.
Fred walked up to the office, he had made himself big, he did his business time walk, fuck I was scared. ‘Come with me boy’.
I sat in the passenger seat, a fishing rod was next to me, at least I knew I was only getting a beating today and not the torture leading up to it. I was comforted by knowing which tool would be used to administer that beating, there was just the one option sitting there rather than three or four. Comforted too by the fact that the fishing rod was actually one of the better options.
We drove around for 20 or so minutes, not a word was a said. Fred had a few spots in my mind around the Colac Lake, the first two were not quiet and isolated enough, the third was perfect.
He stopped the car and got out. I took a massive breath, grabbed the fishing rod, opened the door and walked straight up to him. Tears were falling, I looked him straight in the eye and held the rod in front of myself to give to him.
He didn’t take it, tears came into his eyes and for the very first time he saw what he had done to me, how afraid I was, how the fear was all him. He gave me the first and only hug he ever gave me out of pure love, I cried and cried and cried. He did too.
Through everything I knew at this moment there was a human being in him somewhere, that he wasn’t all terrible, love existed at his core. The moment saved my life, I honestly do not know if I would have made 20 without it. I knew I would be able to keep the promise I made to myself when I was seven, half an hour or so into the torture method he used, I am never going to be anything like you.
I went back to school and went home and everything was fine. The next morning, I kissed my Mum goodbye as I went to school, she kissed me is more accurate, gave my Dad a hug as he was leaving with the truck and did not see him again for seven or so years.
The day Mum finally called it off was literally the best day of my childhood, if you call it that. Never again did I have to fear the truck sitting out the front of the house when I got home from school, never would I be abused and beaten for doing nothing wrong other than what another man decided I did wrong ever again. It was too late however, I had no idea how to be a child by this point, no idea how to be anything other than battered and broken really.
This lasted a long time, I worked hard on my healing to bring some sort of something to my life. I made great progress but it would have taken me life times to reach any point of security in myself. Then, my best buddy returned to my life, my best buddy Cannabis.
I hadn’t smoked for maybe 18 years at this point, there was an incident that involved Paul that put me off cannabis and all drugs. I stopped, and with the exception of two occasions, did not think about them again.
It was cannabis and the dark web that brought me to psychedelics, it was cannabis that brought me to this phenomenal phenomenal tool that gave me back my life. It gave it back to my be removing stuff rather than adding it, it made everything simple, it made it all phenomenally beautiful.
This is a story for another time. I am going to get stoned, so, I suppose, for the story not coming any sooner blame cannabis. But, also, I was already stoned before I started writing it, so, I suppose, blame cannabis for that too.
How far we have come?
Funny Into My Arms by Nick Cave started playing when I wrote the sub-heading.
Look how far we have come buddy, the boy in the shed, the man right now in the hammock. How far we have come together, yet we are only a stone’s throw from where we met. Where I met the best buddy a boy, and in time, a man could have.
How far we have come buddy.
From passing a bong around in the shed, to wondering if this was real and knowing it really really is, our relationship is real buddy. I get to express it to the world, I love you, my best friend.
I don’t need you buddy and this is why I love you, you don’t need me to need you, you just want to be my buddy, nothing more.
And you just want me to be yours, nothing else. We tell each other the truth, it’s what mates do, not even true mates, just plain old-fashioned mates, good mates, the best mates, it’s what we are.
How far we have come, from having to muster seven mates, a ride to town, dial into an underground meeting in a seedy pool room and then maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to find someone to sell a stick, one gram, of pot for $25.00 to us. How far we have come buddy.
How far we have come, the man in the marriage has less than the boy in the paragraph before, he is alone, isolated, has nothing, yet how far we have come.
There is no stronger man, when there was no more afraid boy, there is a fighter when once there was only the victim of other’s fights. How far we have come.
How far we have come, the mystical jounrney for a magic moment with my mates, through the heavens and sky just go get high. Now, I have to tell people no, no more, I cannot possibly do anything with it.
By this people I mean I cannot do anything with it, I cannot smoke it in this lifetime. I will not sell it, I am not doing what I do to be greedy.I will trade it for what I need, which is what I have done, sometimes that is money. Money buys me food, you do not.
How far we have come, now all I have to do is laugh into the air when I say to the dogs aaah shit buds, I forget to get a bud. No journey to follow, I repeat my steps, back to the kitchen, open the bucket and close my eyes. Lo and behold I pull out another bud the size of Mike Tyson’s head.
How far we have come, I love you Buddy.
Respect your Cannabis
Every one of the topics here repeat primary themes, one of which being hygiene, clutter, messiness. In every example I use I am explaining the primary topic amongst all of this, every page, peace. Respect and peace go together, respect for yourself is the first respect that needs to be learned in order to respect others.
Stoners have a really bad name when it comes to hygiene and for good reason. I am the opposite to this trend, the more of a stoner I have become the better my hygiene and general organisation.
However, my experience is that most stoners fit within the slobby stereotype, only a few of us do not. I want this to change and I want it to change starting with your bongs, pipes, shisha’s, vapes and other smoking paraphernalia (stuff).
These things are disgusting, every time I see another pothead’s bong it makes me cringe. Can almost never see through the pipe itself and not because the cone is full of shit because it is. Resin and residue filling up the pipe, the part leading from the cone to your mouth or into the bong, so much that you cannot see through it means it has not been cleaned in months. Months.
Wiping the outside and making sure the cannabis will burn and go through the cone is not cleaning. It does nothing. You need to clean these things. It stops diseases passing, germs festering, bacteria growing and you just looking like another lazy stoner.
Boiling hot water is step one, it and a pair of tongs. Take the thing apart into all pieces, boil water and then holding each piece with the tongs run that boiling water through and over it. Keep running the boiling water until it runs clear.
Now, boil more water and place all the bits together in a bucket with a good amount of dishwashing soap. A good amount, especially if this is the first clean in a long time. Fill the bucket up with enough water so it is covering everything lying on their sides, and a few more centimetres of boilding water for good measure.
Leave it until you can handle the water with your hands.
At this point, find something that will pass through the pipe easily and a scouring pad. Pipe cleaners work, bits of wire, spoon handles. Metal straw cleaners are the best, the more rigid the better. Now scrub the crap out of everything, inside and out. Have more boiling water by your side to run over and through each bit as you clean it so that you can see when it is clean.
Once everything is clean rinse it with clean running tap water and leave it to dry.
I add a small amount of mouth wash to the water every now and then to help with freshness. Does bugger all but makes a tiny difference the first few smokes after being cleaned.
I clean my bong like this every couple of weeks. In between I’ll run some boiling water through it when I boil the kettle and make sure it is generally in good shape. When I know I will have company that might use it I always clean it properly.
Hygiene, Stoner buds, start with your bong.
Respect your cannabis, through it you may just start to respect yourself.
Paul
I had a reason to be hesitant towards drugs, to take an 18 year break, Paul. A beautiful beautiful man. A beautiful beautiful man who’s background makes mine seem pleasant, not a fairytale, but pleasant.
Paul lived with his brother and sister 500 metres down the road. I would sneak out of the house at night to smoke pot with him and Chicko, sometimes stay all night, make it home and onto the bus stoned as a mother fucker.
Paul didn’t speak much about his Dad, I know he died of an overdose but I cannot recall if it was accidental or not, there were conflicting stories and none of them came to me from the family. Their mother, well, she was never there. The three siblings raised themselves through their teenage years mostly.
Colac, two options mainly, sport or not-sport. Sport gave people purpose, without it there was bugger all, bugger all except for drugs. Colac itself has a pretty poor history with drug related violence. Heroin is involved in some of the stories from the 80s and 90s. I was involved in both, sport and cannabis.
Paul and company spiralled, with the exception of Helen who was smart and left when the drugs became more than just drugs. Helen always was her own strength, a beautiful strong intelligent woman, somehow held to her own feet through everything around her, remarkable.
Parties, the company, alcohol and cannabis combined to start with. Then stealing alcohol to add to the cannabis. Other drugs came into in. Paul and a few mates did over Mossy’s parents house making it look like another robbery, the parents know. Mossy the mastermind. They did it to steal $10,000 in cash from a safe which they took to Melbourne and had the bender of all benders.
Back to the company, ex-prison inmates and just disgusting people. Not all ex-prison inmates are disgusting but these ones mostly were, one who sat there looking into my eye, my 15 year-old eye, and telling me how he would rape boys like me in prison, open my arse right up, all his mates would go through me. I took the detour home that night.
There were parties, crazy parties, one of which was one of the two times my mother ripped into me, completely deserved. Me and Scotty got in the car with Chicko one night when he was blind drunk and in a jealous stupor, he was unstable and unpredictable at the best of times. When we got back to Pauls Mum, along with other parents from the neighbourhood, were all there trying to break up the fighting and all out war that had basically broken out.
At 17 is when I gave the drugs away, funnily only two months after obtaining access to as much pot as I could ever ask for, pot I would never have to pay for again. Two years and more scrounging to get enough cash to buy pot and then I give it away two months after having it available to me like tap water.
Me and Troy, a good mate Adam’s ex-brother-in-law. Adam basically lived at Emma and Troys and I stayed there regularly, Troy would sell me pot cheap or just share it with me. He had a dry sense of humour, a beautiful smile and only really spoke when he had something to say. He was struggling in the background but overall he was a beautiful calm presence to be around.
Well, until you pissed him off but this isn’t the story for that.
One Sunday morning Adam is off doing Adam and Troy tells me to hop in the car, I do. We start driving, Troy smiling a smile I hadn’t seen before, pure excitement. I say nothing as we drive into the Gellibrand Ranges, take a few dirt roads, some old logging tracks and pull up in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Only Troy could have found this place, he was a logger, spent all of his time in the bush, what he came across was a gold field.
Troy jumps out of the car and tells me to follow, he starts running, I can only just keep up. We go down another logging track, turn into a kangaroo trail and then another. After 15 minutes of running we come across the reason for it, there is a huge plantation of ready to harvest cannabis plants.
I have one of thise awe moments I have previously mentioned. Next, I look at Troy and say ‘are these yours, Troy?’, with the cheekiest of all grins Troy turns to me and responds, of course they are Fred.
Troy pulls out a machete and chops about 20 down, they are maybe nine-feet tall, higher. He loads my arms up and loads his own and we run, well kind of run, back to the ute.
The ute itself is a two-person cab with a tray that has side walls but nothing at the back. We pile all these plants up, Troy puts black plastic bags and a couple of rocks over them and jumps in the car. I’m playing with my chin, ‘Troy, they’re hanging out the back of the ute mate, like three feet of 20 plants.’ She’ll be right Fred, get in.
We drive back, 20 minutes on the Lavers Hill Road, through Elliminyt, past the South Colac Footy field and the mini-mart, past the graveyard, turn right and pass the technical school, the pool, another corner shop, cross a busy road and a couple of minutes later we are home.
Told ya she’d be right Fred. Oh, and buddy, never think about paying for pot again.
We unload, the table inside the unit is three metres long by about 1.5 metres. Beautiful beautiful table made by Troy himself. It cannot be seen after we drop the plants on it. And the smell, god it was beautiful so beautiful. Still one of my favourite things, smelling cannbis, the plant itself and the smell from others smoking it.
Two months later Paul would be in prison, spend five or six years there after beating the shit out of his pregnant partner with an iron bar in a drug-alcohol-and whatever else fueled psycotic rage. Scared the absolute shit out of me, re-considered my relationship to drugs.
The most scary thing of all was despite really shit circumstances Paul was a beautiful young man, really great bloke, what happened wasn’t him.
I’d seen it though, the progression to this, I couldn’t have been the only one. Paul threw the bong at me one night when we were buggering around chucking M&Ms at one another, not hard, just lobbing. One hit him in the eye, the action that followed came without any thought at all, piffed as hard as he could the glass bong, pure reaction, no thought, it smashed on the wall behind me missing my head by less than 10 centimetres.
It was these things that entered Paul’s life more predominantly with each new limit he pushed for himself. Reactions of violence that were completely out of proportion with the one that led up to it. It reminded me of my Dad, of course reminding me of me, scared the shit out of me and I stopped.
The black ball
Hi Potters, I missed you. This is my favourite place to write, it only seems to happen when I am quite stoned, perfect really.
Had just finished wiping the floor with Janka, 5 to 1 my way, pool this is. Had moved on and started wiping the floor with the new bloke from Germany too. Then, I sank the black ball. Nobody really minded actually, it was a cracking shot. The 7-ball maybe, tucked up against the far cushion, 20 centimetres from the right pocket, only option is to pocket it in the left. White ball only 40 cms away but the angle had to be perfect, needed to be hit hard but not too hard, perfectly done.
Perfectly done except the too hard part, the white ball rolled a little too far after bouncing off its third cushion, knocked the black ball which found its way into the side pocket. More the table role than anything. Oh well, it happens.
It happens, it is what it is, these words were repeated by so many in this backpacker, Hostel Casa Escalante in San Jose, beautiful place and Janka a beautiful man. He is volunteering and his heart is clearly exactly where he is, beauitful guy, beauitful crew. Pot smokers of course.
Love backpackers, still go to them. Get a private room, dorms are not for me these days. They are simple, have everything required, kitchen for example and all I have to do is base my decision on which one has private rooms and the best outdoor space.
After the shot everyone is giving the wow praise, it was good, and Janka says I bet you spent a lot of time in bars along the way, Fred.
‘Nah mate, barely any, used to sneak out of the house at night when I was a teenager and smoke pot with me mate Paul down the road. He had a pool table.’
Hahaha, see I knew it, of course you did.
‘Yeah, haha, of course I did.’
I love Paul mates, really love him, good good young man, tried really really hard but simply didn’t have the right type of support around him. The last time I saw Paul was outside Woolies in Colac around 25, he had recently been released from prison. It was him still, invited me over, but I just didn’t understand what he did yet and couldn’t bring myself to visit. Paul was a beautiful friend.
In our chat he told me he was off the drugs, had a stable job, was doing his best. The doing the best part he didn’t say, sums up the conversation. It was easy to see he was trying, pray to God he still is.
He is also a discrimination I had to deal with. One day on the bus almost in tears, primary school, because the only seat left was the one next to Paul. Fred had warned me against having anything to do with Paul, Paul was nothing but bad news. Yes Fred.
Paul brought out a couple of toys, handed one to me, we played a little and in moments I became comfortable next to him. He was okay. I really hope he still is, love this man.
Me and Paul, and Scotty too, were great together. Completely harmless, Paul’s presence was always welcoming and open, comforting in every way. Play fighting he was older and much bigger, always two on one, or if Scotty not available I had to tackle it alone. Not the preferred situation. But Paul never went too far, never ever, until the boundaries he was pushing started to push back. I learned very quickly not to continue, or even get involved.
Stoners, let’s recognise these signs, learn to talk about them in a way that isn’t as in your face as it is currently.
Buddies, you aren’t cunts, well some of you are, love you with all my heart regardless your drug, we are all in the same space. So, this read I choose to make easy, recognising the signs that you or your loved one is starting to move into difficulty territory is important. It needs to be approached with care, compassion and love. Let’s see if we can operate under those conditions here.
Now, buddies, it does not mean I will not swear, of course it’ll happen. I’m just not going to call you shit. Drug addiction, alcohol included, generally comes from a lack of something, not feeling enough, never feeling enough. Here we learn together we are enough, we learn in the opposite way it was taken from us, without pressure. Blame Cannabis we use love, compassion and care, agree?
Hey mate,
Just wanted to say hey, that’s it, just that. Well, for a few minutes anyway, I’m not supposed to be here just now but I wanted to come early, just a little.
Because, you know, as I know that I am not stoned right now, well, a tiny bit. The LSD has worn off, it’s all I was waiting for, now, I go and do it properly, then, let’s talk together, finish this off with the beauty our relationship has been, the hard hard work we have pushed me through.
So, firstly, from mostly straight Fred, thank you from the being of my being, which is your being, for everything, absolutely everything. Love you good Buddy, purely love you.
See you in a bit.
All my life is a ceremony, Doe Paoro, came into my life two days ago. Music in the background now, first song, the only song I wanted to listen to right now. So so beautiful. So so perfect. So so true. Because it is, it really really is, you taught me this best bud, simply to love myself, that it was possible at all to love myself. Now, my life, the entire thing is ceremony. Beautiful beautiful ceremony.
I work and I work and I work to understand myself, who I am, why I am the way I am. It is heartbreakingly painful alone lonely work.
Thank you for this too bud, teaching me it is okay to be lonely, to be alone, to be okay with it. To accept me, to accept I am doing the best I know, it is the best I can do, will continuing doing it.
You’ve shown me too, how full of love and life I am, you are trying to tell me to accept it, that I am worthy of it. It is my absolute right as a human being, any human being.
Every human being. You taught me this too, by teaching me to stop discriminating against you, I accepted you and I accepted my brothers and sisters who I once discriminated against too. Nothing in my life was more important than this learning, there are so many more learnings like it, you know this, you were there for them. Beautiful learnings.
Mostly, however, you have shown me love, support, nothing but truth. You’ve made it okay to point out all the flaws in myself, accept them, change what I do with them, love them, love me, love all things. You continue to show me true love by pushing me away, making every session we spend together painful, enough is enough Fred, let us part ways.
I’m pushing you away too, I tell you without telling you. I’m not enjoying our relationship now, forcing myself to work work work, I don’t need to anymore. I simply need to live live live.
You hold me back a little now, not a lot, but enough. And, I know, thanks to you, I can do it on my own, I am better on my own, we both know I am.
When I am not with you, when you are not here, you are not here and my life is so so stupidly easy, in the best of best ways. I do not feel like I deserve it, not yet, well, did not. I know I do, I really really do bud.
Thank you, just thank you, for so much, for everything, my entire life I owe to you, every part of it.
A plant. A fucking plant.
I’ll still come to you of course, just not like this, and not for a little bit. I’m going to make it work without you before making it work with you again. One step at a time. The relationship doesn’t need to go, instead change, that’s it, that’s all.
First, my relationship with me needs to change, I am enough, it is time to accept it. Be enough by myself, be okay with it, have some fun, dance again.
Which is the crux, hey? I dance less now, I dance most when nothing is in me at all. You and dancing, the dance floor, like, seriously mate. Unless it is right where you are there is almost no chance of you going there, especially after 5pm, ha, no clubs are open then Buddy? Fucking hell mate. 9pm and I am absolutely done, still nobody at the pubs. Not here anyway.
Another honest, pal, girls, well they generally want to have a drink with me. I’m really not sure why coming back to my place, smoking bongs, eating munchies, and smoking more bongs, isn’t as appealing to them as it is me, but it isn’t. Yeah, work that one out, the human bloody condition.
Of course, I’ll find one like me that does love that shit and we’ll do it together because we love doing it together. It’ll be as fun as fuck, we’ll probably even fuck. Of course you’re invited, it’s stupid awesome having sex stoned, of course you’re bloody well invited. Not all the time though, sex without you is equally friggin’ awesome.
Apples and Bananas, hey? How funny was that? Even more funny, it’s what I want, my hiking rest breaks, apples and bananas, not weed and darts. Like, buddy, that was just us taking the piss.
Groups of people sitting there puffing and panting, trying to get in apples, bananas, whatever weird protein shit they are carrying and I am there getting balls stoned, eating nothing, often wearing flip flops. Follow it up by having a lit durrie hanging out of my mouth as I walk away. A casual stroll that became a little less casual. Yeah, funny as hell, but the bananas and apples looked bloody good, so did the women eating them. Probably would have been easier to strike a convo with that stuff rather than the you type of stuff.
Get what I’m getting at here?
Really, I could go on forever and ever but we are not saying goodbye for good, goodbye for now is all it is. You’ll come back to part two at some point, the point after I achieve the outcome of the bloody title of the stupid thing, A good root.
Yep, that’s it, the challenge will no longer be in the writing, just the heading. It’s what I want, need, my medicine is no longer drugs, it is me, it is Woman, human interaction. I have to do it alone mate, just do, I can, you know I can, it is why you are telling me to go.
Thank you, love you, and see you soon, here or there.
Frederick