Archive for the ‘Marijuana’ Category

09-1272.pdf application/pdf Object.

This link – sorry about its being a .pdf document – contains the official notes from the recent Supreme Court decision, which ruled against the unconstitutionality of what police did at an apartment complex in Kentucky.

To recap: a man had his apartment door kicked down by cops who were following up a staged crack buy. After the targeted dealer vanished into this man’s apartment building. the police had seen him enter the “breezeway” (is that something like a foyer or outdoor hall? I’ve never heard the term) and lost sight of him at the point when he entered this “breezeway”.  The cops noted that said crack dealer could have entered either a room to the left or a different one to the right. After smelling marijuana smoke coming from the left room they knocked, announced their presence, and heard “a bustling” that was interpreted to be destruction of evidence…so when the tenants failed to answer, they went about the business of kicking their door in, in the style familiar to anyone who’d ever seen an episode of “COPS” on TV.  Once inside the apartment, they discovered the tenant, his girlfriend and another guest had been passing a doob around, and so immediately arrested them. When they DID get the search warrant, they found more pot and some cocaine.  For this, he was sentenced to ELEVEN years in prison.

Only after THAT was over and done with did they enter the OTHER apartment on the right,  found the crack dealer this whole business had been about in the first place, and nabbed him.

Reading this entire document might be a bit of a challenge for the legally-unfamiliar – it certainly was for me, but I still plowed all the way through it- with all its talk of what constitutes “exigency” – the consequences that apparently provide the precedents that effectively allowed the permission for warrantless search.  (The link does not go to page one of it, but rather to the page with the quote I’ve cited below; it will be easy enough to use your PDF reader or plugin to navigate to its beginning.)

This passage below should resonate with meaning to anyone familiar with any of the “Constitutional Rights 101 for Stoners” pamphlets handed out by many medpot advocates, and/or Don’t Get Busted – the familiar book by Ed Rosenthal and attorney William Logan – which remind the most frequently arrested people in the whole country – marijuana smokers, growers and distributors – to “flex their rights” before their lack of exercise causes them to just keep disappearing, more and more, as every day, month and year passes: (Emphasis mine)

When law enforcement officers who are not armed with a warrant knock on a door, they do no more than any private citizen might do. And whether the person who knocks on the door and requests the opportunity to speak is a police officer or a private citizen, the occupant has no obligation to open the door or to speak. Cf. Florida v. Royer, 460 U. S. 491, 497–498 (1983). (“[H]e may decline to listen to the questions at all and may go on his way”).When the police knock on a door but the occupants choose not to respond or to speak, “the investigation will have reached a conspicuously low point,” and the occupants “will have the kind of warning that even the most elaborate security system cannot provide.” Chambers, 395 F. 3d, at 577 (Sutton, J., dissenting). And even if an occupant chooses to open the door and speak with the officers, the occupant need not allow the officers to enter the premises and may refuse to answer any questions at any time. Occupants who choose not to stand on their constitutional rights but instead elect to attempt to destroy evidence have only themselves to blame for the warrantless exigent-circumstances search that may ensue.

The presence of police can certainly be intimidating, so actually remembering not to talk to them while they are demanding conversation is obviously liable to be difficult – particularly if you’ve snarfed up a blunt or two, and thus suddenly find yourself having a gigantic panic attack as you begin to feel your worst fears amplified fivefold: there’s no denying that there is a  well-known increased susceptibility to stress-based confusion that pot – no matter how well it has helped you medically, or how generally positive its effects as a multi-purpose tonic have been for you  – can still potentially cause even in the mind of the experienced toker.

Don't Get Busted

Thus in light of what has happened in the nation’s highest court I recommend that all active marijuana users, distributors and/or growers – regular or not – do the following things, as soon as you possibly are able:

– Purchase and read the above book, Don’t Get Busted, by Rosenthal and Logan
– Make it your sincerely-attended-to, honestly-worked-towards goal to move ASAP to a state in which voters have approved the legal use and distribution of medical marijuana.

California is probably the best of these, with its city and state laws most open to it. Cities such as San Francisco and Santa Cruz have made marijuana arrests “lowest priority” for their police departments. If you live in a state like Kentucky, expect the opposite…and be ready for the possible consequences.

Of course, since I’ve been born and raised in  – and still live in – good old golden Cali – and fabulous Frisco is my current home, streets brimming with retail storefronts adorned with the insignias we know and love: the green cross, or the green caduceus and sometimes just the familar bracted leaf…perhaps, I’ve got a wee bit of bias.

Sometimes, I feel that this preponderance of pot stores, and the general change of attitude regarding marijuana in movies and on television, represent the sole thing about this awfully baleful 21st century that could be thought of as any improvement at all when it is compared with the prior one.


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Amusing as Hell.  May help distract the distractable-enough from noticing that sidebar stuff didn’t get done.  Do you really need to hear why? Just assume the obvious, and whether you are or are not correct, you’ll settle for the ‘reason’ knowing full well it coulda just as easily been YOUR fuckup, if you were running this show…

Seriously, though…I’ll really try to get to it even though the next four or five days are burdened with what Tim Leary usedta call ‘first circuit concerns’, the damn CRAP every human needs to do if s/he wishes to maintain living space, adequate food, health, and all that happy horseshit without which whatever addicts you to a sludgeball of euphoric glee, be it legal, illegal, halfway-there and racing for the finish line…OR MAYBE YOU are, like me, JUST REALLY ADDICTED to the goddamn internet, so much that it’s done more damage than your past hard drug habits, but stopping it or cutting down to a healthy hour or so a day and no more would take you, or your caring friend, putting an ax through your almost-$800 dollar computer, which is NOT the kind of intervention that makes my friends remain my friends.

What happens to net addicts who also can happen to – unlike me at this juncture – actually afford weed? Does the weed make it worse, or does the weed make you succumb to the need to get horizontal and/or eat which kind of interrupts the net-addiction process…you STOP clicking when you are stoned, if my memory serves me (and yes, ONDCP jerkoffs, it DOES) before your brain melts out your ears in goopy wet gumdrop like balls of fizz.

But enough of that.  Download this Scribd – is that scrib-dee or scribbed, when you say it either out loud or read it in your head? This one’s a hoot.

Sidebars.  Blogrolls.  Soon.  If you give a damn remind me.  If you author a drug blog and don’t remind me, I will send minions to your home to steal your stash and bring it…somewhere else, until you send me your url and beg me to sidebar it, the way folks did in the old days when there were about 85 blogs and mine was one of them! Everyone rushed around trying to get on each other’s sidebars, using creative begging, bribing, and even obscene offers to obtain this vital link love.  Now, the fucking RSS shit does all the work and all I have to do is grab the list of feeds, run a few, then hit one of the social nutwhacking sites searchbots, put ‘drugs’ in the box, and after winnowing out the rehabs and happy church group community anti-drug program blogs, scoop the rest onto the sidebar in one grab and slap.

(Actually, that while doable, would kind of suck.  That’s the way I had it before, but this time I’m gonna do a categoried blogroll, since the p0t blogs and junkie diaries ought to live in their own lil’ comfy sections.  Doncha agree?) That however does take more work.  Might hafta wait till that First Circuit shit gets attended to, or else I’ll just do a crappy job since I’ll be too worried–not to mention entirely too straight…since until I figure out some way to earn my own pot money, I ain’t gonna smoke it.  It’s a karma thing.

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420 Day

It’s also Hitler’s birthday and the anniversary of Columbine, but fuck all that, we know what it really means.  Hope you had a good one today.

As a temporary measure, I put up one of the old, old, Anodyne logos from back-in-the-day.  It looks like crap because of resizing and all this happened because I can’t get Photoshop running to make a new one.

SIDEBAR for blog will be fixed in the next 24 to 36 hours and blogroll replaced.  Might as well categorise it this time, and do a better job than the last one, at least, since I have to go hunt down all the drug-blogs that now exist anyway.

I will swear to the holy nature of LSD and my own life, damn it, that Anodyne was THE FIRST BLOG on the subject of drugs.  There WAS a blog active at this time, circa 2000, not created on blogware, called Drug War Rant, which is still around and full of the never ending reasons why it’s completely ridiculous to keep spending so much money and police time keeping people from using them.  Anodyne, though, only was partly political, seeking to be the blog that was about all aspects of drugs, including the politics, but also the stories from my life, and also submissions by anonymous parties telling such tales.  Some were Good Stories, some were Bad Stories, and others were very neutral, which is rare when such a passionately loved and hated topic is discussed.

If you have a Blog on Drugs of any sort and want it included in New-and-Improved Outlaw Anodyne Blogroll, you just send a link right to me via the comments and I’ll see it gets attended to.

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I know pot is ‘medicinal’ since it saved me from having to spend my adult life continuing to live with a rare condition nothing else even touched, and that was my childhood aversion to swallowing solid food, which persisted into adulthood.

Marijuana cured me of a weird, rare eating disorder, cibophobia, which I was apparently born with. It’s not at all like anorexia since it’s not weight-issue related at all, but the effects on the body are about as dangerous to one’s health. It just makes no sense: swallowing food just felt horrid, tasting it, feeling its textures–all were so horrendous, you can’t imagine it unless you had it. My case seems to have been fairly bad, compared to others I now have read about. In the 1960s, no one in the medical community knew of this disorder.  It is still a huge mystery, being neither hereditary nor microbially caused, and though it has psychological symptoms, the problem was really centered in my throat and tongue, not my brain – or at least it felt that way. As a result of years of cibophobia, malnutrition caused me to grow up quasi-autistic, and I never fully developed my knee joints. My face, in childhood, looked terrible–and in late middle age, the traces it left on my visage still show a little.

Cibophobics seem to choose a few foods, usually of no caloric value, and eat those.  I loathed swallowing, especially soft foods or vegetables, fruit or meat except for the skin of KFC. I only could eat popcorn, crackers, pancakes, french fries or the chicken skin – period! All I would drink was orange juice, and thankfully it probably saved me from rickets, or worse.

As babies cibophobics are merely assumed to be being finicky, but when your 9th birthday comes and you’re still like this, your parents start gettting terrified and exhausted by the failure to rid you of it. My brother never had it at all. But my parents had to force me to eat dinner each night, sitting there watching to insure I didn’t hide it or throw it away until I’d eaten the following:
– a tiny sliver of carrot
– a quarter-sized hamburger meat mini-pattie
– two leaves of lettuce.

I had to wash each tiny bite down with orange juice in order to stand it, hardly taking the time to chew, and crying like crazy.  Swallowing and tasting food just felt horrid – unless it was crunchy, salty junk food, which I chewed into dust and swallowed normally.  At about age 5 or so, Mom tried to force the food monster out of me by depriving me of all those things, but after 5 days of eating no food at all, the doctors finally told Mom to relent, and let me have my Ritz cracker box.  I dug into it like mad while a TV commercial for denture cream bleated “Finally, NOW, you CAN eat all the foods you LIKE!” — which made me laugh and laugh and laugh and I stood there watching Mom, and not understanding why she wouldn’t even smile.  It seemed so funny to me and it was the first incident in my life I remember experiencing humour.

I had to eat to keep me from passing out, and they loaded the OJ with vitamins. Every night on my plate were those exact same 3 things.  Trying a new thing was even more traumatic.  My dad tried to force a piece of cucumber down my throat and I think he may have chipped a tooth without meaning to: after that he gave up on me completely.

THIS was my entire food intake for fourteen of my most important years for my body and mind to become strong and well.   I shunned all people.  I did somehow manage to become really good with reading and writing, and my grades got me into Berkeley.  I told no one at all my sole motive to go to the university was to fulfill a desire I had since I was four and saw a news program about Woodstock: I went there to become a drug user, as if it was a career choice…and to me, it felt like it was.  I secretly yearned for hallucinating, and for the company of these adult people who actually looked happy and played like children instead of looking like sad, tired, used up adults…

When I entered college – with the express intent of finding the counterculture and using drugs, I found the student co-op and its communal house with four floors of hippie painted walls and dancing swirling lovely girls and boys…but when they noticed my eating habits they were terrified for me.

The night in September when a girl with a tie-dyed shirt on and another boyish-looking girl friend of hers sat by me in the dining hall they said hello to me right away instead of looking at me with askance, sideways glances of disgust, like I’d gotten all my life. One of them gave me a joint of pot which I smoked explaining I had been ‘waiting for it since 1969′.

“Apparently!’ they laughed, thinking it an exaggeration, but when I explained all my life I’d been waiting to ‘become a hippie when I grew up’ they thought this was amazing, because no one did that.  People ended up using drugs sort of by accidental exposure, and I was thanking them like they were my best friends for finally giving me this magical stuff people loved and hated so passionately.

The tie-dyed girl , viewing my plate and anorexic looking body, quipped “Either you are morbidly unobese and eating astronaut food pills or you really did need this all your life…”

I think the next hour was one of the sweetest I ever knew.  The pot I tried – mistakenly – in high school never worked but this did, and not only did I feel happiness for the first time in my life – in my reduced condition ‘happy’ had just meant ‘not horribly miserable’ despite my perfect family raising me and giving me anything I ever asked for…This was a “happy’ my body felt.

Fleeting memories exist of my first few weeks at the place…of one of the girls holding my head against her arm while the other helped me slowly swallow three bites of rice, lentils and zucchini that she cooked. I tasted the food and it was homey and nice and I loved it.  The orange juice in front of me sat there and I didn’t even reach for it.

After a week of this, my cibophobia was about 90 percent cured and a year removed almost all traces of it.  Marijuana pretty much saved my life – I’d have died of something far too soon, had I not begun to eat real food regularly…my concentration improved despite the pot use, and I did wonderful in my first year at Berkeley.

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Cute. But I’m a little stumped about how the person who p-shopped this saw a letter “G” in that cannabis leaf.


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Apparently, the Democrats have copied an underhanded strategy from the conservatives: the practice of attaching unrelated riders to important budget bills.

I always found that practice somewhat galling…but maybe that’s just because I’ve always seen it used to sneak ugly legislation past the radar instead of things like this. Ending prohibition is an uphill battle, even with the change of climate we’re experiencing nowadays. Maybe this is what it’s going to take, sometimes.

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