Quitting Cannabis

Let's begin with--I'm not anti-drug, not any drug. You can do whatever you want. I'm not going to judge you for it. My scales are all broken. Everyone knows this.

But, in case I'm wrong--

TRIGGER WARNING: I have very little filter, and I’m notoriously batshit. If you know me, you know that. If you don’t, at least I told you. What more do you want? If that scares you, don’t read my stuff. And don’t try to turn this into “UHHHH, HUH-WHUAH! He’s a MAGA!!! Fuck am I tired of that schizoid horseshit. Fix your goddamn object relationship, spazmo. You fuckin’ sound like the flipside Hannity when you do that shit. Knock it the goddamn fuck off. There. If that triggered you, don’t read this.

For about three months, I’ve been thinking about quitting weed. Yesterday, I decided I was going to follow through. That doesn’t mean cold turkey. I am bipolar. There’s some argument that it may have turned into a mild form of split personality disorder. I don’t think that’s the fault of weed, I think it’s the fault of my self-improvement because there’s something inside of my skull that doesn’t want to improve*, and its answer was to split off from the rest of my goddamn dumb ass right side pain insular cortex. No, this thing wants to pick a fight. It wants to hit the street. It wants to find out where the game is. It wants me to go to the Flying J with the 20 and ask around. After THREE FUCKING YEARS it still wants to do this, and the only thing I think will fix this all the way is total sobriety. Unless you count coffee and cigarettes, which no one really does. I may quit cigs down the line, but not right now. You can’t make me. Lol.

*Yes, it happens, any shrink will tell you. Go ask one.

It's not just that. Some of you wonder how I live like I do. I have a trust. It’s almost gone. That’s another reason I need to quit. No, it’s not old drug dealer money. It could have been, but the cops took all of that when my bitch ass got raided back in 2016 and the took all the walls down, and all the Jeeps. Yep, that’s right, bubba, Rob had cars, a house, girls, dope, respect, the lot—it’s all true. And if you think I don’t spent a lot of time thinking I’m a fucking cunt because I don’t have the “balls” to go back to a life of crime, you’re fucking wrong. So, this is the crap that goes through my head on a daily basis.

There’s a lot of other shit I could say but fuck it. You get the idea.

I’m going to chronicle the lot, so you’ll get to read about it. I’m going to do this the way that the Great John Bruni, author extraordinaire, upstanding citizen, absolute cuntyballs, and hetero life-mate, would do it. Times when he’s written about having to quit for short periods, he preps. He gets his usual, maybe a wee bit extra, and weans down a bit before the day comes. By the time the day comes, he cares less. I have my usual half-ounce and half-gram of sugar. This weekend, I will smoke the same as always. I will enjoy it. Come Monday, it’s time to bring my levels down. When it’s gone, I will not get more.

I have a stockpile of resin I’m sure I’ll mention again for when it gets too rough.

I have yogic sadhana for bipolar. I know there’s a zillion pieces of propaganda saying that meditation is horseshit and helps absolutely nothing, but that’s BULLSHIT. That is shit coming down from Big Pharma to make sure the anti-depressant business doesn’t suffer. I will NOT—repeat NOT—be taking those fucking obesity-causing, male boob growing goddamn zombie pills. If you want to take them, go right ahead. As far as I’m concerned, all of you can do whatever you want. What’s more, if you want to think I’m a cunt because this is the ONE FUCKING THING I agree with RFK Jr. on, get the fuck off my page. Block my ass and don’t read my blog. Like I give a fuck. I never gave a flat flying fuck what anyone else thought about goddamned shit, and I’m not going to start now. I find things out for myself. I move how I move. No one fucking tells me.

Therefore. Mediation is in.

I’m…yeah. Quitting weed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck this. I need to loop a beat. I figured out how to lay down vocals, so it’s on. Just a few more dings and I’ll have a record in the works.

By the way, if you can find SINISTER BLU: SIN AND THE BLUES—yeah. I made that record a long time ago with Stephanie Scoggins and Sean…whatever his fuckin’ name was. Liles, that’s it. He doesn’t like me anymore for like…reasons, and she died.

More to come. Thanks for listening. I really don’t have anyone I “talk” to about this stuff. I don’t do “talking” like that much. I’m the guy who bottles everything up until the volcano explodes. And there are 100,000 stupid little schizoid memes that’ll tell you why you have to think I’m a cunt for that if you want to be considered an upstanding member of the happy pappy status quo-y. Bit I extend to you this staunch promise; if I force you to read rancor, I’ll try to make it entertaining.