High Ramblings about Religion


Okay, so I am an atheist. Let’s just get that out there now.
But I see the appeal to religion.
I think religion, or should I say more specifically, spirituality is a wonderful thing.
It is beautiful.
It is a gorgeous, and I believe, one of the most fulfilled lives to lead.
Spirituality offers something to the human psyche that is primordial and very primitive. I don’t mean that in a bad way. What I mean is that it is pure and basic. It seems to be basic, formulaic, to the average and happy human life.
I just don’t buy it.
I don’t buy the existence of a higher intelligence that in any way shape or form mirrors humanity in any way.
Out of all creatures, we are the least perfect.
We are the cruelest.
The evilest.
The most pompous.
The most sinful.
And only because we recognize that in ourselves.
We give our most basic, negative characteristics, horrible connotations. And then we project that on our idols, our models, who are once again figments of our imagination.
Cause if u think about it, everything is. The human mind is a powerful thing. And we create our plane of existence, through the various and diverse humanistic perspectives we have.
Of course, the world revolves around each and every one of us, because that is what we see.
So why is it that selflessness, something completely and utterly inhuman and human at the same time, is one of our most highly esteemed traits, universally? Riddle me this.

-high ramblings of a stoner

High Ramblings about Change


A change is coming.
I can feel it.
I can see it in the wind, in the trees, in the people surrounding me.
Every subtle action, every event, everything is changing.
And that’s a good thing.
It’s time for me to change.
It’s time for this chapter to close, and a new one to open. It’s time I once again rewire my thinking. It’s time for a new phase.
I just don’t know what that entails.
But for some reason, everything congregates around my 20th birthday.
I don’t know if it’s just that I am finally leaving my teens, but there is a change in the air.
Something big is going to happen soon.
It may just be something in my life, a realization I feel coming, some kind of momentous life experience.
I don’t know.
It might be something deep, or something superficial.
It might be an event that shapes the world, or just my world.
All I know is change is in the air.
And I don’t know if it’s winter that is coming or spring.


-high ramblings of a stoner

High Ramblings about Sadness

“Since our childhood, we have carried fatal wounds disguised as fatal flaws.”


It’s funny, I read somewhere that you should never let someone make you feel like you’re hard to love.

But that’s how almost everyone who I give a shit about in my life, make it out to seem. In their eyes, I am a piece of shit. They have told me this cleverly disguised as advice, or caring concern. When honestly, if they could pick the easy way out, they would choose not to love me, but everyone is under the illusion that they have obligations to each other, when honestly, we rarely if ever owe anyone shit. And even if we do owe someone something, the only force behind that obligation is our own moral standards.

Nothing in life is obligatory, not even love.

So is that even real love? Love only felt because of obligation? Love only felt because we have the most basic of human connections. Love only felt because of duty?

I don’t want it.

If you feel as if you’re under obligation to love me, then just don’t. I will gladly remove myself from your life, and honestly, I will barely feel a shred of loss.

Cause I am a piece of shit.

And unlike everyone else in my life, I at least admit to it.

As a matter of fact, there are parts of me that are messy, sloppy, unhinged, eccentric, and bratty. But I love that part of me as much as any other part. I know without it, my character would be devoid of the shading that brings a picture to life.

And now I am going to apologize for my ring of recent blogs, I feel as if they have been kind of dark. I haven’t read through them yet, but I’ve just been in a melancholy mood so I feel as if my writing reflected it. Or maybe not. If so don’t pay attention to this last paragraph.

-high ramblings of a stoner

High Ramblings about Chili

I fucking love chili.
But like, chili isn’t something you can get store bought or from a restaurant because it would suck major ass. Unless of course, you went somewhere renowned for its chili.
You know, I  actually can’t think of a place like that.
Holy fuck.
I want to start a chili restaurant. I want all types of chili, from all over the US. Hell, I even want to create designer chili, chili that’s so goddamn different yet tastes so goddamn good. Like maybe, jerk chili, or perhaps chili adobo. Ooh, how about chili curry?
Duuuudes, the possibilities are endless.
You could make chili desserts; like chocolate chili served over like pretzels or some shit.
And what if, bear with me here, it was a smoker friendly place? By that I mean weed, of course, look at the title of the blog lol.
Like what if we had stocks of cannabutter, different strains of weed and what not. And when people ordered their chili, they had the choice to pick a weed in it, similar to picking the wine you want with your food?
Mind blown as fuck.

-high ramblings of a stoner

High Ramblings about Relationships

I don’t think I ever want to be in a relationship, or fall in love or anything like that cause I’m afraid what that will turn me into. I already have a hard enough time not being a piece of shit person and friend, like in a relationship? I’d either be a complete piece of shit or a complete psycho. I don’t know. I just feel like, I don’t know man.
Like I already have a hard enough time maintaining relationships with friends. But like, with a significant other? One of us would go psycho making the other life a living hell for the other.
Plus, honestly, I don’t like people too terribly much. Like, I haven’t had an actual crush on anyone in a while. A few years at least. I just, maybe I’ve had slight infatuations or something, but like dudes, I can’t.

-high ramblings of a stoner

High Ramblings about Sitcoms

I want a sitcom about stoners. Like literally stoners. Not That 70’s Show shit, I want weed to be an integral, if not completely a main part. And I want it to be funny. No drug dealers, unless they are pilot jonesing. I don’t want another drug king-pin, funny, selling pot shit. I want it to be about the everyday adventures of a stoner. U know something people could relate to.
That is all.
Wow, that kind of turned into another post.
Should I put a title?
Well now,
Fuck yeah, title time!

And signature

-high ramblings of a stoner

High Ramblings about Selfishness

“And as they ended, so did my summer. So did my eternal youth. As their lives imploded, mine exploded, dispelling everything I thought I knew about myself. Summer was over. This chapter was over.”

-excerpt from my memoir I shall write when I am 80, if I live that long, if not then it’ll just be something I said once long ago on a very stoned night

And once again I have made it about me.
Isn’t it awesome, to look out in the universe and somehow find signs that seem to guide u along ur path?
How fucked up is that?
Why the fuck does the universe care about us?
I mean, if it’s so vast, so high and mighty, so, divine, what the hell could it want with us.
And looking for signs in people’s actions?
The world is not a play, sorry Shakespeare, the world is a cold and ugly place, what was it Sweeney Todd said?
There’s a hole in the world like a big black pit that is filled with people that are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it.
Yeah, that. Only the entire world is a big black pit. It has spread sweeny, my sweet sweeny todd. It is no longer just London, but the entire world.
And like I said I am horribly selfish and I don’t even want to talk about it.
Everything is about me, that’s how I seem to think. At least that’s how people tell me I think. And at times, I kind of just do it cause I want to show them that if they call me selfish I’ll act it. And I’ve thought that way for so long that I literally convinced myself I am actually a selfish piece of shit.
Oh, fuck.
I forgot what I was talking about.
Um, this is awkward.
So yeah,

-high ramblings of a stoner

High Ramblings about Aliens

So I just realized I am terrified of aliens. I have no idea why. The fear is somewhat akin to the fear I have of dinosaurs (read about that in my earlier post about fears).
See I am someone who rarely has nightmares. I can remember a handful of dreams that have inspired abject terror in me: one with a jazz musician, one with a doll house, a bunch with dinosaurs (of course), and fucking aliens.
I don’t know, there’s this quote that says that either we’re alone in the universe or we aren’t, and either option is truly terrifying. Those aren’t the exact words, but that’s the gist. And boy, how I relate to that shit.
The universe is so big, I mean, is it really possible that we are the only life forms?
We can’t be. And that is kind of scary. The bing bang supposedly happened 7 billion years ago, or something like that, and it took around 200,000 years for mankind to have advanced so far.
That isn’t even 1/7 of the amount of time the universe as we know it has existed.
What if another planet got the recipe for intelligence and sentient life right in the first billion years? Or two billion? Or three billion? Or even four?
Either way, it is possible that intelligent life as we define it exists some where else out there, and they could possibly have a really big heads start.
I don’t know why I fear aliens, I mean, whose to say that they are like humans?
If we are the epitome of intelligent life then I fear for the universe.
But I mean, while chimpanzees are violent and territorially, their cousins, bonobos, are much more loving and kind.

-high ramblings of a stoner

High Ramblings about Self Medication

I self-medicate. I am not afraid to admit it. But I do not abuse anything I use to deal with my mental illness. I drink, and yes I do throughout the day, but at no point during the day am I drunk. Liquor is for special occasions. Wine, beer, wine coolers? Sure, I’ll have one with breakfast lunch and dinner and maybe one more in between those times. But I am never drunk. I smoke weed. But unless I am making an activity of it with friends, I won’t smoke a joint or a blunt, I’ll smoke a single bong pack or bowl pack every hour or two. At no point during the day am I fucked up. Cigarettes? Yeah, I smoke em. Yeah, I know they’ll kill me young. Yes, I want to quit. But I’ll decide when I’m ready to actually devote attention specifically to destroying that bad habit. Pills? I love em. Do I take them without a prescription? No. Do I take more than I am supposed to? No. So whats the problem? Honestly, I abuse a lot of things, but never to the point that it is literally life threatening. Everything can be enjoyed in moderation. What’s life without enjoying the things you want? Honestly, its quality not quantity. But that’s just my defense of why I do the things I do lol. Think what you want I’m happy.

-High Ramblings of a Stoner

Drunk Ramblings about BLM

One thing I really like about this movement is that the victims matter. The victims are treated as martyrs. Did they want to be martyred? No. They wanted to live a full life. Almost everyone does. And that’s the thing, these victims, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, and Michael Brown among so many others, they were us. That’s the thing, these are people we know, they are who we are. We can relate. It’s deeper than just skin tone, it’s something that should speak to all of us. I mean, even if you were white and lost your child, you could semi-relate to the victims’ parents. I know it seems like a lot to ask people who aren’t of the same skin tone to sympathize with a plight that has been going on for centuries, but we can all relate on a human level.
In almost every culture, there has been a stigma of having a darker skin tone. In Asia, in South and Central America, in Africa and even in Europe people with darker skin tones are thought of as inferior. In the past, the reasoning behind that has been that those with darker skin have been farmers or laborers, a category designated to the lower class. While those with fairer skin are typically considered to be a part of the upper class, for they didn’t have to be out in the sun for long hours slaving away. These people were plumper and had cushier lifestyles that didn’t revolve around working outdoors.
Carl Jung had this psychological theory called the collective unconscious. According to this theory, humans pass down archetypes through generations, without ever explicitly stating them. These thoughts are transmitted unconsciously, from parent to child. Archetypes can easily be replaced by stereotypes. These are unconscious tendencies to relegate certain people to certain stereotypes. All of it having a basis in how our ancestors thought. I don’t know if I believe in this theory. But it would help to explain why racism seems to come by so easily in the human race. Though, honestly, I’m not even sure if it would be racism. Even in Europe, pretty much everyone was of the same race, white, but those who had darker skin had it because of their work outside. It was a defense mechanism against the harsh UV rays of the sun, but others, the richer and fairer, saw it as a sign that these people had to work hard in the sun because they were poor. I don’t know if I believe in the collective unconscious, but it would explain why so much racism occurs nowadays.
Of course, that is no fucking excuse. We are all human. All of us, of the same fucking species. We deal with different things, we have different capabilities, different disabilities, but none of that is dependent on skin color. Skin color is nothing more than our defense against the goddamn sun.
And the BML movement? I am 100 percent with it. I am mixed, and actually look very white. Technically, I am 3/8s black, 1/8 Japanese, and half white. This movement, while I support it and defend it, I know I still have that privilege. That white privilege.
When I was in eighth grade in GA, a little white boy asked me out. I said no. He looked me dead in the eyes. He told me that that was okay, but to promise him I’d never date a black boy.
Before then I had never heard such racism. I was stunned. I told him my dad was black, he didn’t believe me. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. I wanted to sock him in the face. I didn’t. I calmly showed him a picture of my dad, and he moved seats, rarely if ever speaking to me again.
Racism exists, I’ve never been a true victim of it based off my skin color, but I have that little white card where people think it’s appropriate to spew their ignorant opinions at me. And I am mixed, so it’s almost like I’m a minority in a minority. What’s that song? Unaccepted by the whites and rejected by the blacks. Yeah, that could have been me. But I fell in with the weirdos who honestly don’t give a flying fuck about skin color.
I am with BML a hundred percent. And anyone who isn’t? Well, they just need a history lesson. Or a present lesson. Open your fucking eyes. I have a very special glimpse because of my ethnicities. But it’s not hard to see the injustices.
Anyway, sorry went off on a tangent that turned into a life story, but I like BML so much cause its about the victims. I can almost draw a some what weird parallel with serial killers. So in the case of serial killers, we know the killer, by either their name or nickname. But the victims? How many of you can name the victims of say, the Zodiac Killer or Jeffrey Dahmer? Unless of course your a serial killer buff. But most people don’t know the victims. I sure as hell can’t name one. And if you think about it, we can relegate cops to that title. What are they doing? Pretty much serial killing African Americans (I use African Americans because I’m talking about what’s going on in America). Sure it isn’t just one person, it’s a whole occupation. Not to say there aren’t good cops. I’ve met good cops. One gave me a reason not to end my life. Anyways, so we pretty much have an entire profession serial killing African Americans. But the difference here is we know the victims’ names. And not just their names. We know their faces. Their families. They will not be forgotten. And that’s a powerful thing.

-Drunk Ramblings of a Stoner