'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet'

Went under the influence again. Picked up the ganja boy. He took us to this location in Wellawatte. Gall Road. No weed there though. Too bad.

Came off disappointed and when to location number 2. Place down passing Williams. and this time badu had.

Came to my friends place at bamba. wrapped it. 3 packs. 6 joints and enough left over to fill up a cigarette.

Started smoking.

First, the paranoia spreads. Ado what r we gona do if the cops walk in? it's not like the cops randomly walk in, or have ever walked in, into my friends house. but we were smoking in the garden outside, with some soothing music on, and number one topic of conversation was how to get rid of the leftovers from the whole process of wrapping and preparation. flushing wouldnt work, too many floaty bits. Cant walk into the road and throw it out. Cops might see you and get nosy. Cant chuck it in the drain. What if some shithead saw it falling into the ocean. Dude the cops could come up the drain and attack us from behind! Laughs.

The rest of it is hazy, and the smoke didnt help either. I hate the moments of remarkably truthful insights that hit you when your high. the truth hurts. but most of its not negative, though you dont tend to notice the positive much cos your feeling good most of the time. so you only tend to notice when the good thoughts give away to something extraordinarily sharp and piercing.

Clichés are flung around with reckless abandon. All their clicheness disappearing in the mass of original thought trains reaching their culmination. Making every single statement an end of a journey of independent thought;

'Whats ina rose?'

Blank stares.

Er, I mean, 'Whats in a name?'

Long pause for effect. Then,

'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet'.

Profound silence.

That sort of thing.

Weird snatches of wisdom, that had to have been documented then and there to be thought over later in order to be made sense out of. Sinhalese proverbs translate to english.

'Tree fall man bull prick'

'Twig break, chair make'

and...

'(pointing to shoulder) here wait, ear eat'

the smoke. Its all over the place. The stuff was alright. There is a nursery in my friends house. and in the hall there is a playhouse. I go in there and chill out. listening to some music. It's Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin.

Went back in time to finish the last bit of the little cigarette (that was not). Then sat back and wrote a poem.

Its 1.00 am. we are going to pilla to get some food. I call a cab. to go home. got a meeting in the morning. He drives fast. im scared, then thrilled, then bored, then i forget all about the van until he asks me 'how much more to go sir'?

Just a little bit more. Ate. Slept. Its been a good few months since i did this.