See Right Through Ever'thing
The Supreme Court's anti-weed decision is nothing new, nor surprising. Six of the justices agree that the state has the right to criminalize private behavior, in this case, smoking gage for medicinal purposes. It's supposedly another Drug War victory, a federal stand against hopheaded freaks and their terrorist sponsors. At least, that's how some dope warriors will spin it. And assorted cops and prosecutors nationwide will doubtless view the Court's decision as a green light for further repression (though the DEA appears, at least publicly, less gung ho on busting cancer patients). But people will keep smoking, whether they're sick or not. Though its power is very real and can destroy lives, the state does have limitations, and it's in these areas where a thick skunk scent is usually present.
Still, it seems comical that at this late date we're dealing with shit like this, esp given the larger and more pressing horrors of the world. But systems of control are self-perpetuating, as are the delusions that keep them humming. And criminalizing marijuana requires massive delusion and lying by those who seek control. To be expected. To paraphrase Bill Hicks, alcohol and cigarettes do nothing creative for you and accelerate your chances for death, yet they're legal. Weed, on the other hand, opens a door in your mind and lets you see how you are getting royally fucked on a regular basis, yet it's illegal. Coincidence . . .?
Terry Southern poetically expressed this sentiment in his short story "Red-Dirt Marijuana." Set in rural Texas, a white teen boy, Harold, is secretly cleaning, sorting and jarring cannabis buds with a middle-aged black man, C.K., who works various jobs on Harold's family farm. C.K. gives his views on the uses of weed, which Harold has never experienced. After listening to C.K.'s rhapsodies, an obvious question arises.
"'How come it's against the law if it's so all-fired good?' asked Harold.
"'Well, now, I use to study 'bout that myself,' said C.K., tightening the lid of the fruit-jar and giving it a pat. 'It ain't because it make young boys like you sick, I tell you that much!'
"C.K. put the fruit-jar beside the shell box, placing it neatly, carefully centering the two just in front of him, and seeming to consider the question while he was doing it.
"'I tell you what it is,' he said then, 'it's 'cause a man see too much when he git high, that's what. He see right through ever'thing . . . You understan' what I say?'
"'What the heck are you talking about, C.K.?'
"'Well, maybe you too young to know what I talkin' 'bout--but I tell you they's a lotta trickin' an' lyin' go on in the world . . . they's a lotta ole bull-crap go on in the world . . . Well, a man git high, he see right through all them tricks an' lies, an' all that ole bull-crap. He see right through there into the truth of it!'
"'Truth of what?'
"'Dang, you sure talk crazy, C.K.'
"Sho', they got to have it against the law . . . Sho' you take a man high on good gage, he got no use for they ole bull-crap, 'cause he done see through there. Shoot, he lookin' right down into his ver' soul!'"
Seeing right through ever'thing is not officially encouraged. In fact, it's downright anti-American, esp at a time when a whole lotta trickin' an' lyin' is standard procedure. The majority of the Supreme Court understands this, as does anyone in authority committed to increasing their power.
But then again, seeing right into the truth of matters will invariably break your heart. At least music sounds better.