MY FIRST TIME SMOKING POT

        I graduated from high school in 1969. Yup the class of '69. Kinda has a ring to it. Well... I thought about it but never had smoked a joint before. My good friend Carl knew this and was gonna be the first to get me stoned. Seems once you smoke pot it becomes your mission to get others stoned. Kinda like a sci-fi alien flick I once seen. He directed me to a cemetery at the bottom of Odell Ave. Right off the Sawmill River Parkway in Yonkers were I grew up. I parked my car and looked 'round and 'round. It seemed cool so I kicked back and let Carl direct. He lit up the joint he had just rolled and puffed it then passed it to me. I took a hit and held it in as directed then blew it out and waited. Carl took another hit and then passed it back to me. Carl's eyes where slits naturally, but now you could hardly see them. Funny thing was that I was feeling nothing unusual occurring in my body. By now Carl was hysterically laughing and carrying on, amazed I was straight .I smoked more and more and we finally finished the roach. Still nothing. This was amazing to Carl as he was totally ripped out of his gourd. So I started up the car and went home. After dropping off Carl I climbed the two flights of stairs that I had climbed at least three times a day since kindergarten.
        My Mom was reading the paper or the Readers Digest when I opened the door. I was ripped. Climbing the stairs got my blood moving and the THC was filling in the cracks that let you know you are stoned. Or however it works. I got to my room quickly while my Mom read on. Thank God she didn't ask me to do anything for her 'cause it was ground control to Major Tom. Come in, can you here me.
         My room was psychedelic with black lights and day glow paintings I had hung on my wall. There also was a large red glowing ball that my friends and I lifted from the top of a lamppost indicating a fire alarm in Mt. Vernon, a neighboring town. Being mischievous at a young age was pretty common in life and I was no exception. My Mom was always wise in her teachings. She said do not follow the crowd, believe in yourself and be a leader. Not a follower. Good words to live by but sometimes we slip. Anyway...My walls around my desk were covered in aluminum foil so as the glowing colors from the paintings would form a menagerie of colors in the crinkles of the reflective foil. This was what I was fascinated with as I stared at my wall for a long long time. This was the coolest feeling I ever felt up to that moment and my creative alarm clock had just been wound. I began my life as a pot smoker at that graveyard with my friend Carl and will probably take God's gift of ganja to my grave.       My long time friend Carl passed away about five years ago. However, he lives on dearly in my memories. You'll be hearing more about my adventures with Carl and others in one of my most absolute favoritest story ever.      WHERE'S CARL?

          Stay Stoned my friends               Wizzzmo