Posts Tagged ‘weed’

Next Day

Posted: October 12, 2017 in poetry
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Piggelie on valium and weed was a very happy Piggelie

Oh the schemes he’d weave and the phosphorescent day-glo phantasms that lurked in his brain box

He felt capable of anything as all anxiety had gone

He felt more human and less tired from the wretched night before where no sleep was possible

He felt he could have a loving relationship with a human female well, for an instant

He felt this would not be possible until he lost 30 kg

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John Forbes 1986 - ANU_original

I dreamt last night I hung out with John Forbes and ‘hit the piss’
We talked about Frank O’Hara and the death of God
We talked about women and love unrequited
We talked about Sydney skies and how to write a good drug poem
We talked about the importance of tone and irony
We talked about how Dylan Thomas used to do a hundred edits on one poem
Strange these fragrant poetic moments
With good companions on the road to death
John was as cool as I previously imagined
Brilliant, witty and sardonic
Then we went to score some weed
And some cough medicine
And filled our esoteric needs

 

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Death is the great trick

You are death’s whore

You should never underestimate the weasel

Death is the great trick

You are death’s weed

You should fear a poisonous scrotum oozing pus

Death is the great trick

You suck death’s marrow

You should never believe what the cool people say

Death is the great trick

Wink and you’ll miss it

You should never underestimate the depths of my depravity

Death is the great trick

You are death’s dildo

You should never trust a man on meth

Or an amateur gynaecologist

Dank

Posted: April 25, 2017 in poetry
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cones1

I think this weed

Is dank indeed

I said to Captain Cone-head

I don’t need

Coke or smack or speed

As long as I have this dank weed

And I will never go to seed

Captain Cone-head pulled his cone

And muttered something snappy

I said I’d be so happy

To have a shitload of this weed

So that I could be high indeed

And wear sunglasses like lou reed’s

centrelinkoptions

I wait for the Centrelink beast to devour me

It lurks ravenously waiting to bite off my head

And suck up my brain

I wait for the Centrelink beast to devour me

Like a snail waiting for a bird

Paralytic with fear

I wait for the Centrelink beast to devour me

Like a pandimensional lion eats up time

So many people have been busted

I’m sure they’re gonna bust me

Then I won’t be able to afford cigarettes

Or weed

Weed

Posted: February 7, 2017 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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Chop up about half a gram of green crumbly weed

With some tobacco

Take a pipe, and fill it with the mix

Ignite and inhale

Almost always cough

 

Don’t you love it when that warm satisfying numbness

Invades your brain and settles into your body

Kisses your cranium and renders you stoned impervious to paranoia

A rush of green apathy and carefree abandon as eyes redden

Loneliness fades and anxiety dissipates

Music starts to sound like crystal stars floating through the ether

Everything is more amusing

Everything is beautiful

Thanks to magical marijuana

 

purple

Henry ran out of whisky and switched to weed

An ounce bought from a slightly dodgy fellow poet

Henry’s mate, Captain Conehead, came over for a smoke

“Choppety Choppety Captain Conehead” said Henry

Captain Conehead chopped up a couple of buds with some white ox

Stinky buds, purple nurple, the ultimate high in the sky

 

Henry packed his pipe, lit and inhaled

A warm fuzzy numbness descended on his brain

Everything was funkier, more interesting, more amazing

He put on the Beatles and started to sink into his chair

This is a most excellent day Captain Conehead he said

For all Henry’s paranoia and raving insanity was resolved with a few cones

And for once, he didn’t feel alone

 

oak

What does it mean to be free?
Free to smoke too much weed without getting hassled by the pigs
Free to meet ladies of easy leisure in funky pubs
Free to shoot smack and smoke ice till my brain falls out
Free to drink sixteen pints of beer and stumble down fractal streetscapes
Free to stay in and vegetate watching crap on TV
Free to scheme esoteric schemes
Free to dream esoteric dreams
Freedom not to bullied or hassled out by anyone
Everyone should have this kind of freedom
Man Free Woman Free Gender Queer Free
All God’s children dancing naked in an oak tree forest in sensuous spring
Bounded by a crackling stream rolling over rounded rocks
Sky a hallucinatory blue with a gorgeous rainbow

Hallelujah, Praise God from whom all blessings flow

party

Will you be there?
I will be there with my many friends
I will get drunk and stoned and run a humungous muck
I will hit on all the single women and attempt to be interesting
And some woman may find me interesting
Come on, it has happened before
Occasionally
There will be some cool bands there churning out distorted indie goodness
It will rock like a hit of cocaine
In an intimate vein

Will you be there?
It is likely that someone will choke on their own vomit
Which is a nasty way to go but better than choking on someone else’s
There will be rivers of alcohol and forests of weed
Tobacco and pot smoke will be thick as the conversation
People will exhibit joy and fascination
With each other and with the moments of togetherness
Which grow into an ecstatic peak through group synergy
Then subside into nothingness as everyone goes home to their hangovers

When you talk
I can hear gears whirling and missing
And see misfired electricity racing to the end of burnt-out of neurons
You are talking to yourself and not to me
And you always smoke all the weed

Your world is populated by imaginary friends
A whispering, mumbling, shouting cacophony
And you’re always talking to them
But you say you’re not schizophrenic

You are convinced of your genius
But how much is pretension
And how much is delusion
And how much sanity prevention

‘Artist’ is a wall you hide behind
To avoid getting help
It’s all getting tired
Call the doctor

You need help
Like fifty psychiatrists in Jamaica bent out of their brains just thinking about your problems
You need help
Like Freud and Jung tag teaming you on a couch of marshmallows help
You need help
Psychologists, psychiatrists, psych-nurses, witch doctors everybody helping you
Then you might get your shit together
And stop being such a pain in the ass