It was maybe twenty minutes after I ate the edible. Consumption was not a pleasant experience in the slightest. The small candy had the texture perhaps of a Reese's Cup that had gotten flash-frozen and thawed again: grainy, dry and crumbly. It tasted of grapefruit peel and pine resin and an overwhelming "green" taste that I could only say is adjacent to bread mold or moss. That greenness prevailed over the other flavors and I was still battling with the vomitous feeling on my tongue while I sat in the living room, my guitar across my lap. The chair I sat in was an old rocker with tightly stretched maroon leather, the kind with brass buttons used to affix the material to the wood. The leather smelled like pond scum and sweat and a bit of ass. Decades of adults and children alike running-dripping into the house, plopping down into this tired chair.

I had the guitar in DADGAD tuning and was playing "Young Love" from Sun Kil Moon when the hammer finally fell. Unlike my experience with the penis envy, the sensation of intoxication from the edible was immediate and consumptive. I felt like my mind had tripped on a root and fell over, and my body was no longer walking in tandem. I felt intense heat in my chest, like what you feel after a long, intense cough. My arms ran with tingles and heat, and my fingertips felt queer. I didn't have a significant head-high yet, but it was sure to come soon. All of these sensations came within five seconds, and the suddenness caused me to interrupt my playing. Constable was laying back on the couch facing me, and he looked up from his phone to see my grinning face. —Oh, man it hit. He sat up and I could see he was pretty high, too. His tolerance for THC is bordering on the heroic compared to mine, and he had consumed some 5-8 edibles that day. I think I would be hospitalized. I only ate half of an edible.

The waves of intoxication built upon themselves over the next ten or twenty minutes. It got to the point where I could no longer play. I'm used to smoking and kind of getting into a flow that allows me to improvise in strange tunings, rambling harmonies and Raga-like solos over droning open strings. The THC confiscated my artistic license. I couldn't imagine music at all, I heard none in my head. Hell, as time passed I started losing any continuity of thought whatsoever. Constable and I got into a game with each other where I would move the guitar into increasingly obtuse tunings and he would try to make up music in them, oftentimes to great success. I've met VERY few guitarists in my years who can get along in an alien tuning. Here are some tunings he tried:

inquiry

> I felt like my mind had tripped on a root and fell over,
> and my body was no longer walking in tandem. I felt intense
> heat in my chest, like what you feel after a long, intense
> cough. My arms ran with tingles and heat, and my fingertips
> felt queer.

Did you ingest chemicals, or get married? ;-)

thebogboys

Married is a stretch, maybe assaulted is a more apt description! Just wait until tomorrow, when I start talking about how absolutely fucked my mind got.

inquiry

Tomorrow just got a bit more like eternity!

Extemporeality 2