……… 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 Paul’s 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.