marijuana manifesto

are you moving slow because you have no energy to do so and so you can't, or is it because you are freaking out on the inside and everything is a huge orange and yellow wire circus and the only way to calm it down for a bit is if you slow everything down: your movements, the sounds and the lights of the environment and your stupid heavy yellow sleep breaths. i can see it at all, actually, really, because one thing will equal another and there's no connection between the two except for what you just thoughthere it goes not i hear you moving in the kitchen and boxes what i'm doing and there's not much sense in ANY SORT OF WAY AT all and i feel like i'm moving microseconds and microseconds and the keys are narrow but when i focus on the one thing, my hands on the black, and nothing else, i become aware of everything else and it doesn't overwhelm. there are ways you can stop this, channel it into something normal that makes sense.
the puppet in the horror movies - the ones in the box, the ones in the windows you saw yelling but who couldn't do anything themselves was because they were puppets and connected impermeably to their foreign hand asses.
i am so excited to return to my illustrious manifesto. my wrists look so tiny but i know when i open my eyes they will be wider, thicker, larger. so many extra neurons. my brain - and everyone says this, so no one believes me; the platitude, the unfavored language of the world. hi stranger-
i like your shoes.
hey friend, i'm sorry i have been no help to your unpacking endeavours - I am in absolutely no sort of control over my head so it's going around one thousand miles an hour - that is the platitude which i forgot to mention - and i can't keep up with it at all so i'm sorry anyway, really very sorry for being the failed friend. i'm sure there's not a lot here I would not be mortified about later when i can think clearly but i'm so hungry no that's not it
your hat is green
your is the correct spelling for that particular use, its subterfuge
everyone is EVERYWHERE and i feel so bad like i don't belong-
--when i'm mindaltered in some manner is when the inner middleschooler emerges and speaks, all in these melodramas which are merely exacerbated
i don't sound this way or think this way but this stupid dramatic girl is the box around the shouting real one, you know, the control emerging. the box contains the control and doesn't it dissipate and control. what time is it? when will this be over? i want you to come over here with me and talk to me and be with me because i feel awkward and enormous and i would like to go to a quiet calm place and be disembodied voices, our bodies the absence of light in the room, and in that way we could fully explore the abyss of our unintelligible brains.
-j.t.