The photographer of the above picture knows it well: marijuana's potent tendency to be mentally registered with other pleasure triggers. Sexy girls straddle godswords of kush on the cover of High Times. Music, breathing and shifting, alive at every note, seems to only puff and sputter the following morning. Fast food visions, the very bread of man, and the unquenchable thirst for MSG dominate the minds of the out, far, and away.
Marjiuana is unique in that, for the experienced user, it is more often than not a catalyst for an experience, rather than the experience itself. Most smoke to enhance an activity. Partake and participate; foolishness is discounted, attention isn't required. If weed is escapist, then so are music, decoration, and condiments.
My associated loves, like anyone's, are too complex to decipher. Countless, tinted memories tick away beneath a volley of sighs and giggles, years long. Movies rewatched, stories retold, gibberish flung to the heavens at top lung.
Smoking has been many things to me over the years: a bold exploration, a deserved relaxation, a fierce invoker of anxious wrath. However, it has been, above all, one thing: a communion. Sacred and free, the smokers' ritual is a holy rite. Pristine order has evolved, complete with exceptions and regional variations. From the packing and passing, to the terminology and insults, the shared experience has been crafted over the years by tight packs of friends, hungry and happy, huddled together like a team with one goal in mind. The moment is about more than just feeling good: leaving my smoking buddies brings me down long before I regain homeostasis.
The social and moral issues concerning marijuana use are likely to stay on the table for a long time still. Class condescension remains a major factor, as does the widespread inability to disassociate morality from legality. The future for this communal past time is unsure: it will undoubtedly balloon if allowed, but will it be?
In an era of increasing isolation, where would we be without the time-honored tradition of the stiff drink. Nightly, hoards of joy-seeking souls join together in bars and living rooms, on back porches and dance floors, to wash away their daily bothers. The experience is not only accepted; it's practically a hallmark of coping with age. Drinking gives us a reason to get together, to skip the small talk and sober awkwardness of pleasantries and just cut loose.Where would we be, then, if social marijuana consumption was as accepted as drinking? Think of the population. Instead of angry, dehydrated, foolish, and dangerous, the median attributes would start to collectively drift toward happy, hungry, open-minded, and expressive. Nights out on the town could consist of conversations in a relaxed smoking lounge, quite the far cry from the dry humps and last calls of nightclubs.
Thankfully, it seems as nothing will change for the worse, at least not anytime soon. But where could we be if it changed for the better? Maybe we'd all be better friends. Or, at least, we'd all have a little more fun.
