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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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#extradirty

if i look back, i am lost
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
One Nice Bug Per Day
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@hopsan
Cannabis: The 'Gateway Drug'
Despite the general public's perception of cannabis being associated mainly with down-and-out delinquents and Snoop Dogg, there is a lot more to this drug than meets the (red) eye. The history of the drug takes us right back to BC. Cannabis pre-dates Jesus. The first recorded references to cannabis were in the Chinese emperor Shen Nung's scriptures in 2737 BC. Although the intoxicating properties of the drug are mentioned, he focuses on the drug's medicinal qualities. It was the Muslims in India who first valued cannabis as a recreational, euphoric drug, almost certainly due to the Koran stating that alcohol consumption is disallowed and unholy. It seems the Muslims sought intoxication elsewhere and found their thrills in cannabis, which they introduced as Hashish. It wasn't until the 1920s that cannabis became a major recreational drug in the USA. This is said to have emerged as a result of the prohibition of alcohol. People needed something else. Initially, however, it was mainly found to be used among showbiz people and jazz musicians. A similar status remains today, in that drugs are largely associated with celebrities, which is perhaps responsible for the glamourisation of drugs in general. Best selling thriller author, Lee Child, recently publicly confessed to the Daily Mail that he has been 'smoking weed for forty-four years, five days a week' and goes on to state that he is the 'poster boy to prove it doesn't do you much harm.' He claims that he works best when he is high and hungry and says that smoking weed should 'be made compulsory.' There is an obvious pattern to be seen among the correlation between the arts and narcotic intoxication. Drugs evoke creative inspiration and evidence of this can be found in the works of almost every successful artist whether they be a musician, author or painter. Take, for example, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, Oscar Wilde, Salvador Dali...The proof is in the pudding. The authorities classed cannabis as a mind-altering addictive substance in the 1930s, despite the fact that users had not caused disturbance or threat. The law deemed it a 'gateway drug' that could lead users to more serious narcotic addictions. In the 1970s most of the USA's supply of the drug came from Mexico, hence the name 'Marijuana', and in 1975 the Mexican government agreed to eradicate the crop using toxic pesticides. This lead to Columbia becoming the main supplier of cannabis to the New World. Despite Regan and Bush attempting a mildly successful 'Zero Tolerance' crack down on cannabis, by the 1990s the drug had resurfaced in a big way and become a mainstream recreational substance, particularly among teenagers. As in the 1920s, it was endorsed by musicians. The trend in grunge brought with it a hugely increased trend in cannabis smoking. The cannabis demographic went hand in hand with hip-hop and grunge music as well as skateboarding, all of which were largely dominated by the youth of the USA. This attached a certain stigma to cannabis which remains to this day. The fate of these musicians usually turned out to be pretty unseemly, and the authorities, as well as the general public have a tendency to blame this on drug abuse. Being deemed a 'gateway drug', cannabis is held responsible for almost every narcotic-based misfortune. However, there are many people who completely disagree with cannabis being a 'gateway drug', who want it legalised. Many people believe that the decriminalisation of cannabis would result in a more liberal approach, leading to a decline in Cannabis-related crime. Evidence of this can be seen in the Netherlands where cannabis is not illegal. Users can smoke casually in a laid back environment and because it is not as strictly regulated by the law, it becomes more 'normal' and less 'exotic'. Many young people in places where the drug is illegal want to use it because it is a means to rebellion; breaking the law: an attractive concept. The problem is that the stuff that is smoked today is not the same as what was smoked twenty years ago. Potency has more than doubled, with the average THC content now being over 10% and sometimes up to 25%. This creates cause for concern with regards to the effects that cannabis can have on the brain- the young brain in particular. There are studies being carried out frequently, but there seems to be little consistency in their findings. There is definite correlation between cannabis use and short-term consequences but little evidence to show that any long-term harm is done. There are approximately 250,000,000 cannabis users worldwide and in terms of popularity among mind-affecting drugs it is only preceded by caffeine, nicotine and alcohol, which is interesting as caffeine and nicotine are stimulants, which cannabis is unlikely to be described as. The immediate effects of cannabis are not dramatic enough to be of any serious concern to the user. Dry mouth, red eyes and increased appetite, i.e. 'the munchies', and of course short-term memory loss, which in some cases probably isn't a bad thing. The paranoia and anxiety could be a little more disconcerting, however, it doesn't cause disruption in a way that misuse of alcohol does. Cannabis use causes no social threat. Users do not become violent. If anything, they become docile with impaired motor skills, which certainly doesn't put the user in a position to start a fight, or even retaliate. We tend to stereotype the cannabis smoker. They'll usually be either a hippy or a teenage boy with a computer game addiction far more time consuming and intense than his dope habit. The reality of it is that an estimated 4% of the adult world population use cannabis. All sorts of different types of people. Amsterdam's acceptance of the drug seems to work well socially and politically. There is so much focus on eradicating cannabis use, when cannabis isn't necessarily the problem. Many weed smokers use it as a form of relaxation and are not remotely interested in advancing on to harder narcotics. People find problems where they look for them, and because moderate use of cannabis doesn't prove to be seriously problematic in any way, it poses no threat to society. It would appear that making cannabis more widely available and accessible with reduced consequence where it is decriminalised works, systematically. Of course the health risks still apply, and excessive use among those under the age of sixteen is proven to pose long-term damage to the brain. With legalisation of the drug increasing, most recently in Uruguay, authorities are faced with the fact that it perhaps isn't such a bad thing. If more and more countries or states are altering the legislation of cannabis, there has to be some benefit. In Uruguay at least, the main aim was to eliminate the trafficking of the drug. Trafficking is where the problems lie and crime develops through gangs. When an individual is allowed to grow their own cannabis (up to six plants in Uruguay), the crime associated with trafficking is eradicated. The debates about cannabis will no doubt continue for years to come. There are two strongly opposing sides that will never see eye to eye on the matter. Whether it were to be globally legalised, or eradicated altogether, the issue of the 'gateway drug' would still remain; it would simply shift. Some other drug, perhaps a harder one, would replace cannabis and earn this title. So which is the better 'gateway drug', cannabis or cocaine?
KRISTAL AND JONNY BOY
It's Thursday night. I've just returned from a carb-fest of a holiday in Italy and much to my astonishment, I find myself heading to the gym. Living in Stockholm, it's only natural that I'm glued to an iPhone for the duration of the journey, to avoid, God forbid, eye-contact with a fellow human being (if the 'Stockholmare' qualifies). After my routine scroll through Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat, I remember that one of my good British friends is off to Boden in the north of Sweden for the weekend, so decide to send him a text. He replies telling me he's on his way to the station now with an hour to spare and asks what I'm doing. I dutifully reply with my POA, and tell him that I'm en route to the gym but that I'm more than prepared to sack off the gym in exchange for a drink with him. We go to our usual haunt, Scandic Malmen in Medborgarplatsen, which, conveniently, is situated right next to the Subway, buying my friend an extra few minutes of beer time. We wander in to find a band setting up on the stage in Lilla Hotellbaren. The props in place grab my attention and earn my curiosity. A large fabric rose, a Pom Pom and a mask. A few minutes later the Swedish duo appear, and everybody in the joint turns to stare at the wondrous creature who has instantly captivated the attention and stolen the souls of everybody in the room. It's impossible to look elsewhere. Filled with intrigue, the silent audience waits with baited anticipation to see what this incredibly strange looking pair are going to do. The girl is bare-legged (much to everyone's delight). She's wearing a pair or tiny, high-waisted shiny emerald hot pants with a white second-skin leotard underneath. She isn't wearing anything on her feet, and her face is painted white. The boy is wearing skin-tight yellow leggings, pointed boots and a shirt which is buttoned up to its fullest potential. The combination of his white face paint and slicked back hair reminds me of Dracula, as we know him. He has an acoustic guitar slung around his torso which he strums away at pretty clumsily, adding an unexpected twang to the otherwise electric vibe of their material. Drums and synth are programmed, resulting in impeccable timing glorifying the raw effects of Kristal's voice, the occasional appearance of her harmonica and Jonny's guitar. Between tracks is applause, followed by deadly silence. Not an utterance in earshot. Never before have I seen a live performance which has entirely consumed the attention of every single person in the room. We are hypnotised. It's like magic minus the tricks. With the grace and agility of a ballet dancer combined the quirk of 1920s circus freak, Kristal and Jonny Boy beg to differ from the norm. Their sound is by no means revolutionary; with definite resonance of The Knife which appears to be no secret or crime. However, the gig itself is a performance respectful to the arts in general. Kristal's interpretative dancing has every spectator in awe. Perfectly in shape, she moves how she wants. And she wants to move. She puts on a mask. It's a white face with a black tear. The juxtaposition of every component involved makes for a ridiculously interesting experience. Beautifully delicate vocals which are maintained with impressive control considering her constant array of unconventional movements. I struggle to string together a sentence while walking up a flight of stairs. I am completely and utterly in awe of this beautiful freak of a woman. While the visual side of things greatly contributes to the fascination and caliber of the performance, I wouldn't write them off based solely on their sound. I would happily listen to their music through my headphones. The songs are accessible and easy on the ear. So, I am really glad I sacked off the gym. If I hadn't, I'd never have seen Kristal and Jonny Boy; one of the best, if not the best gig I've ever had the pleasure of attending. Not to be missed.
BADOO
Have you heard of Badoo? I hadn’t until last week.
My mum was over, visiting me in Stockholm. She made me join match.com and even paid the subscription fee. I think she REALLY wants grandchildren, and as I am twenty-seven this year and in my third year of being single, she’s resorting to desperate measures. She seems to think that the internet will provide her with a grandchild.
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ANNE FRANK LIVES.
Mondays, man.
That disgusting day of the week when you get to reflect on what took place at the weekend and realise you have no fucking idea what’s gone on. Memory blocks. Huge chunks of time: gone. Erased. BANG! And the memory’s gone. I wonder why we remember the parts we do. Whether it’s subliminally selective. I wonder if some really cool stuff might have happened that we will never know about, or whether some potentially really bad shit happened that it’s probably best we don’t know about.
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My post for Native Clothing. Please share and follow.
SÖDER
SÖDER
This is where I hang. It means ’south’.
‘Down town’ Stockholm, Sweden.
This is where a 21 year old guy died the other week, taking a piss. He was drunk (presumably) and stood on the edge of the underground platform at Medborgarplatsen and pissed onto the tracks. A train came and the suction pulled him down. I wouldn’t like to have seen the sorry state of his knob after that debacle. Jesus. I saw a foul dog today at the tube station.
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Flat-Pack
Who'd have thought that the Swedes' personalities'd be so accurately reflective of their minimalistic interiors? 'Flat-Pack' springs to mind.
I'm looking for a man in his thirties with a beard.
Fionnuala McArt
Probably the most nostalgic thing ever. Makes me feel despressed and sort of sick and guilty thinking about it. Evokes the strangest of feelings. Remember all the slobber. Remember someone choked.
The spring of our life- our youth- is the midsummer of our happiness- our pleasures are then real and heart stirring- they are but associations afterwards- where we laughed in childhood at the reality of the enjoyment felt we only smile in manhood at the recollections of those enjoyments...we only feel the joy we possessed.
John Clare
Call Centre Blues
My mind is p a c i n g through these endlessly snaking streams of suggestive sentiments and immensely inappropriate innuendos as I sit and pose obediently at my desk as though I care but I don’t. Dying to get home and be alone and drown out the drone of that monotonous phone that has been penetrating my exhausted eardrums for nearly nine nonsensical hours. I want those words like birds to fly and soar and ride in to my mind where they can touch me and I can feel their fierce and fiery force as they work their way in to my impatient innards where they wait…… hungrily for habitual remedy and inevitably alleviating relief. Sitting at a desk in a call centre. Attached to a phone by a wire ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ like an infant attached to its mother with a cord. I get bored. It is the worst place fathomable when filled with heaving desire that just Will. Not. Leave. Articulate accidents with words that weren’t quite on purpose, but hurt us with penetrative pain they reign and drive us insane with longing loins and aching groins and in our minds we roam to a place we can moan and then we’re disturbed by the tone of a phone. Back to reality but that doesn’t manage to conquer the fantasy and these thoughts sent sporadically from one dissatisfied colleague to another, electronically. They torture and grapple me pester and swallow me enter and cover me then let me sleep peacefully.
Valentine.
Valentine… I’ve got something for you. Something really special. I’ve got a lump of bloody flesh, that beats… Just for you. I’ve got ugly, horizontal flat things on the ends of my legs, that will walk to you Wherever you are. I’ve got fat, clumsy claw-like things on the ends of my arms, that will tend to you No matter what. I’ve got a mouthful of big teeth that expose themselves most indiscreetly Whenever my pale, green balls of jelly catch a glimpse of your heavenly face. I’ve got a muscle in my mouth too That never tires of saying ‘I love you’.
You’re not going to battle. You’ve nothing to prove. Carry on, and you’ll not be able to move. Your channel is dead. Your soul and your head. What is left now? A stench and a stern brow. How does it feel? To not appeal To anyone.
if/when
'When' is so much better than 'if'. I love 'when'. :)
Rubik
It’s like you’re colourblind with a Rubik’s cube, it’s crude The kind of shit you see on YouTube And these are your best moves? I’d hate to see your worst And guess who came first and who’s dying with thirst The only thing I’m gagging for is water ‘Cause there would have to have been more to you Might as well have been a daughter You say you’re suffering from stage fright And man, this don’t feel right And if I had teeth, then I’d bite And I have, so I might I’m not starving, so I’ll just have something light And something tells me you won’t put up a fight And I’ve listened to your shit all night And I’d quite like to shut you up, but no such luck I’m out of sight You didn’t mess up, I just don’t like you much You’re moaning about mascara, and you think you’re hard, do ya? And you’re seeing red And I’ve escaped your head And right now, in this moment, You’re more or less dead.