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Vihris:
I can never write like that. I always hate what comes out. I guess it's not my style. Your bit is awesome though. Things like that are so much fun to read. Every time I write something like that though I never laugh; I'm just like "what the fuck was I thinking?" That's why I gave up writing high.
The only thing that I ever wrote while stoned and somewhat liked was this:
A woman in black, a table for two,
Sits down with man all dressed in blue
Whose lips curl in a plastic smile,
And veins course like a tainted Nile.
She pulls the veil from off her face
To reveal the truth behind the lace,
And stoops and scribbles in the dust;
A testament of broken trust.
She yearns still for her soiled youth,
When first she learned the price of truth;
The touch of skin, the painful probe,
The nibble of a soft earlobe,
Trying to tell: is he Polish… Jewish?
The Jews are all dead, the Poles are all foolish.
Could she be more lucid in legend, or fable?
She parts the sea of doubt on the table.
His casket she asked to be made of wastebasket,
Could a sharper insult have been made in a mask? It
Seemed like such a fine thought then,
As she made out his will with a blood-tipped pen.
Quite clever she thought; it proved to be true.
A woman in black, a man in blue…
But the thing is, it isn't stream of consciousness. I'd had this idea before I smoked, and then after I did I wrote the whole poem. So it was somewhat premeditated.
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