Category: The Bite

Orange Cookies by Abundant Organics

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

Smoked an Orange Cookies ten or fifteen minutes ago. Bite. Taking me into the closet to see the skeletons again. Maybe that's unfair, an overstatement.

I was rear-ended on the interstate last week by a vehicle traveling at approximately 60 mph. A vehicle that didn't seem to brake at all before barreling into me and obliterating my car. Strangely I seem to have escaped without serious injury. Which is not to say I feel OK. I have bruises, scrapes, aches and pains, a weird rash on both flanks, my right rotator cuff is torn, and my neck just doesn't feel right.

Putting that memory aside I slipped into...the past, recounting shitty or difficult moments from the past year or two. I don't need to list them. This is a strain review, not a trauma dump. That's what this drug can do to you, though—why some people don't enjoy it. It's not about numbing yourself and forgetting, those are things alcohol can do for you. There is no hiding from the flower. I have zero alcohol in my blood, I'm baked. I'm high, I'm tweaked, and I'm processing events from reality. It doesn't always feel good but something tells me it's important. Like having a dream, except the memories are real and I'm awake. That's why dreams are so alluring. They are ephemeral, quickly lost, forgotten. You can have a bad dream, wake up, and it's not a situation you have to solve, see out, or live with. This is why it's important, to the best of my ability, to have real-life memories I don't mind recalling. Because I can't "wake up" to escape them; I have to live with them. Once I get to this point, the high can be fun, stimulating, assuring, comforting.

And maybe I can get there in a moment here, after wading through, after sifting through the wreck and the dreck. I'm outside. It's warm. I'm hearing the song of a bird I don't know. Or a series of calls. This, br—!

A tick, on my hand, crawling. I make a reflex jerk but it clings on. Then a get a tweezers from the (other) car, remove the tick, and hold a lighter to it. They make a popping sound when they go. It's a cruel, terrible thing to do but no one wants to carry a tick around. They are woefully bad here, in the wood, in western St. Louis County, Missouri. I wasn't even out in the brush; not even out in the yard. Just sitting here in a chair I only recently placed outside the garage. Suddenly, there it was. I wonder whether they parachute out of the trees. I am barely under the canopy of an oak that is beginning to leaf out, its leaves roughly the size of a squirrel's ear. According to old-time rubric, this is the time to hunt for morels but I'd say this year's prime morel season is already behind us.

These Orange Cookies are workable. The bite was firm. I plunged, they gripped. I've progressed through and past that stage of the smoke. Wouldn't it be nice if somehow the act of facing the rubble and climbing through or over it also meant I was clearing the way for some weird, vivid, amusing, memorable dreams later on, when I close these eyes?

The flavor of the smoke was similar to other Cookies-derived strains. Some of that burnt chem flavor but not strong or heavy. A smooth smoke, a steady burn.

I hadn't opened the jar—an AO "super eighth"—until today. Ground some up; the grind was very fine and even; how I like to see it. The bud was a little dry. The jar appeared to be sealed, with an intact wafer seal. I added a moisture pack. I'll come back to the jar in 24-28 hours. There are plenty of jars of flower I open that are dried out to the extent that I will not immediately grind any of the bud, so when I say the bud was a little dry I mean just that. It still had enough bounce to smoke on. I'm pleased so far. There were 4.74 grams of flower in the jar, a typical over-stuff on an Abundant Organics super eighth, listed as containing 4.5 grams. These jars—often offered at the dispensary I've visited on BOGO—are one of the several perks of passing through Arizona. Others include saguaros, mountains, different birds, standard time, and dry air...


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GMO Sherb by Fig Farms

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

The GMO Sherb is showing out well. This might have been my last joint of it. I can't recall whether I have previously written much about it/on it. I am awake here late at night, or very early in the morning, and I'm feeling very introspective. It's hard to believe I was at Farm yesterday, I left before six in the morning. It's all a blur. I thought I beat the rain but there is no beating the rain. It's like my dad said a couple weeks ago when one of the OG CNAs was trying to get a rise out of him, making faces at him. When she walked away he said, "She fooled me, I fooled her!" That's the last lucid thing I've heard him say. She fooled me, I fooled her. He smiled and he had a glint in his eye.

Damn. This is the Sherb bite for sure. It's like a wild, wary, unpredictable animal. If you can work with it, get it to cooperate, if you can learn how to ride it, it can be a workhorse, a real mule, a carrying agent, a vector, a viaduct, a way. Let's get back to that water in the duct. 12:05, 5.19.26.

Clouds over western Maries County in Missouri on Monday morning.

I'm still awake, back awake, awake again, re-awakened. This is how I wake and bake. Now also under the influence of alcohol aka vodka. It's been one of those nights. One of those crazy, crazy nights. Somehow

My mind wanders, my eyes sting, this box fan drying them out, allergies, May, fighting off any more sleep. I will crash when I crash. I'm on the fourth bucket. These are my best hours. Unbeset, undeterred, undertaker spread the word. I emailed that guy, that writer Connor Greer, but he never emailed me back. I made a big mistake and lost all my friends. Three Mile Island is back in production. If only we'd gone to the river together, made the sharing glass. Instead I got drunk, lost all my friends again. If only they were peonies. They were monarchs. But I wanted them to stay. They were recluse, they were widows, they were a previously unrecognized kind of salamander, peanut shells, ticks in the high grass.

Did you hear that? The weight of a falling branch. Leaves are so the whole tree doesn't have to fall. My dad on the phone, my mom on the phone. A TWA flight to nowhere delayed forever. One blanket two, Sir Crocs a Lot, that little room he carried around with him. Basement, devil, door...


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Grinch Mints by Good Green

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

3.2.26, 20:34

The Grinch Mints tastes better than most. It gives me an immediate rush. Heady.

I'm sipping a Grolsch. I've had about five ounces of vodka over a three-hour span. We watched an episode of South Park. It was the Christmas episode with Mr. Hanky. Heck, maybe there is more than one South Park Christmas episode with Mr. Hanky but this is the only one I've ever seen. I haven't watched much South Park. All these years later, I'm getting caught up.

My mind is wandering from one subject to the next. I was thinking about weekend plans; not having it right. Rabbit holes and worm holes. Now I'm thinking about my tax return. There's a form I should have filled out and included with the return but omitted. 8889, HSA Distribution. Technically it's a distribution to you when you use your HSA credit card for medical expenses, even though you don't actually receive the money. It's a distribution but it's not taxable. It gets zeroed out on the form so nothing carries over to income. Still, I should have reported it. [20:45]

3.52 grams of Grinch Mints from Good Green

Earlier today I smoked a joint of Good Green's Clementine. It lasted strong for 45 minutes, had another half hour of perceptible carry, then buzzed on a background level for another couple of hours at least. I could feel something, and I hadn't had anything to drink.

I did a little typing then read a few pages from a Kenn Kaufman book about birding, Kingbird Highway. On a whim my wife bought me Kaufman's most recent book, The Birds Audubon Missed, at a Barnes & Noble near a hotel we were staying at outside Oklahoma City. I read Audubon, and I liked it but it wasn't a page turner. You'd really have to be into birds to enjoy it. Kingbird Highway is a good read whether you like birds or not. It's as if Jack Kerouac were going to hitchhike around the country trying to see how many different species he could locate in one calendar year. I'll crack another beer and get back into the book...


For the full post, click here...

Sunset Sherbet by Good Green

~ johnbrandall ~ 1 Comment

Smoked a Sunset Sherb joint. .4 grams. This time I felt the bite. Which is to say the smoke gets all up in my head and starts my mind going like a hamster on a wheel.

There is less alcohol in my system than what is normal for me for this time of day. The emotions are flooding. I am letting what annoys me take over my entire mindset and well-being. This is the bite. I have noticed recently that Group Texts are staging a social media coup of my phone. I am not on Facebook. I used to use Instagram but I quit it early 2024. I am not on Twitter or X or whatever they're calling it these days. I've never used TikTok; never will.

I have this blog, and another blog (JBR.com) and I use Spotify, if that counts as social media. But now my Messages app seems like a backdoor means for sudden social media-like twisters to work their way into my awareness. Larger and larger groups of people. Reactions to this or that. Today, a poll. I'm not cut out for this kind of communication anymore. I'm just not interested. When it comes to texting I find myself ready to go back to the days of dumb phones.

Opting out of these conversations (even though I never opted in) seems harsh. But I also dislike feeling like I need to have a reason to "leave." Now I'm feeling this textbook Sherb bite and the bite is taking me right into this confused, ambivalent headspace. Into the Complaint Zone. Rant and rave. Wasting time, wasting thoughts! Any more to have my peace it feels like I have to throw up walls and then I feel guilty.

My wife is headed out of town but I don't want to go anywhere. I'm happy at home with Nora, who is otherwise partial to my wife, even shadows her. Now that I'll have a chance to bond a bit with the dog, in my wife's absence, I don't imagine I'll want to do anything else. Solitude, if and when I can get it, is a rarity. A scarcity. I won't give it up so easily.

The Sunset Sherb once again has me putting pen to paper. I have finished a beer but I don't have any vodka in me (yet). Perhaps this allows the bite to set harder, truer. So I try to write the bite away. Just putting this mini-diatribe on paper has me feeling better, calmer. I should try to move onto some other topic. And steer clear of the vodka for at least another hour. 17:01...


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Catalina Wine Mixer by Illicit

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

After burning a .39-gram joint of the Catalina Wine Mixer, I stood outside watering for an hour. The effects were bite-y. Confrontational. True.

This is some strong bud. Psychedelic? That bite, it's another level. We put our dog Hugo down two weeks ago. It's hard not to think about him 24/7, especially when I'm high, especially if the strain bites, which the Wine Mixer certainly does. It's that Sunset Sherb in there. As a parent in a cross, its effects always seem to carry through. The high is almost immediate and it will reach into your closet, into the depths of your mind and grab anything it can to throw at you. This is probably what freaks out less-seasoned smokers. This is what gets called paranoia. Nay. This is part of the process. You cannot run from what is already in your mind, what has already happened. Go in knowing this. Face what you have to face. Get through to the other side.

I have serious second thoughts about putting Hugo down when we did. Why didn't I fight harder to keep him around? Why didn't I realize I would miss him this much? I'm having to look in the mirror. No dog to scapegoat any more. This hurts but it's my reality and I need to handle it. At least I can stand outside and water the plants during what has turned into something of a drought.

As my Dad said recently from his nursing home bed, "It's complicated, but it's not complicated. Crippled by a years-long dementia, he still dishes the odd bit of wisdom and I take in every drop...


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91 Bacio, Fig Farms

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

This 91 Bacio stank up the basement (twice) when I ground up around a gram to roll joints. It was a minty, piney, herbal smell. Pleasant! It wasn't even a fresh jar. Package date was 8.30.2024. But it had an inner seal, that was in place, effective. If the seal is there, and if it's true, and if the flower is cured well, the jar can last. That's a few ifs, and you never know until you open the jar. That's the Schrödinger's cat of it all. Another Catch 22.

Why 91?

There is a Chem 91, one of the apocryphal Chem Dawg phenotypes. And there are two Chem Dawg phenos listed as ancestors of LD-95, one of this 91 Bacio's parent strains. But neither of those phenos (D and No 4) are Chem 91. So, I don't know. I go to their website but there isn't any additional info. In fact, they list the strain on their page of "Retired" strains. Hmmm. Their site: link here.

It hits. Dependable. For $25? Maybe the best value in the country. Hopefully not truly retired! I lit a sparker. A half joint from last night. It's early for me to smoke, 8:30.

The sun's energy, the fog lifting. Took a solar shower powered by a topper of tea kettle boiling water. Not 100% solar. Pour the tea kettle water into the solar shower bag to raise the temp of the water in the bag, which was left over for yesterday because I never showered.

Felt great this morning, though. My head was itching. I needed conditioner, maybe. Birds, sun, humidity on the run—


The full rundown, click here

Gelato by Vibe

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

I am feeling the prototypical Sherb head-rush as I put pen to paper after puffing a creamy bowl of Gelato. It is raining here, all of a sudden, and we don't need it, don't want it. Today was pretty nice all day but this rain will flare up the humidity bomb as soon as the rain has ended. There is no A/C in this old farmhouse so I'm looking at a damp tossy-turny night in my sleeping bag.

I believe that it's the Burma ancestry in Sherb/Gelato that gives me this sativa-like head-rush at the onset of the smoke session. Sunset Sherbet is a cross between GSC and a strain called Pink Panties. The Burmese sativa landrace is in the Pink Panties. By the way, to mention a strain that I never ever see as a stand alone on menus, I cite Pink Panties. I once saw Girl Scout Cookies (GSC) but only once, which makes me skeptical that it actually was GSC, but probably one grower's "take" on a remake of the classic weed building block.

But I digress, because that's what happens when I get the Gelato feathering my capillaries and synapses. It's a head-rush and it can cause some paranoia, some bite at the outset but it usually mellows out into more of a chill experience. Unlike some other sativas that give me that initial bite-y paranoid rush but then leave me feeling stodgy and stoned, e.g. Durban Poison and Sour Diesel. Sorry, they're just not for me!

Thunder. Everywhere walking this mix of pasture and woods I saw the work, the weave of water. I was looking for morels. I found four, two of which were big, one of which was huge...


My full strain review of Vibe's Gelato is clickable here...

OMG by Rythm

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

As I smoke, my mind wanders. I stay (somewhat) anchored by putting pen to paper. These strain reviews are not always (just) about the weed but about where my mind goes when the smoke fills the room.

I was gonna say. Life itself is an addiction. If I feel better after or while drinking and smoking, then why should I not try to feel better? Yes, drinking and smoking also are addictions. So is getting up everyday. So are money, fame, career, reputation, social status. Which are all (also) damaging but people go in search of fame and career and money and social media buzz and society just nods its head and understands those endeavors. It's expected and respected to go out and try to make lots of money and tout one's accomplishments in life. I don't care about fame or reputation so I have some drinks and smoke a joint and blog about weed. Weeds of grass!


Read the full review of OMG here...

Tropical Z by Connected

~ johnbrandall ~ 1 Comment

Citrus dank aroma upon opening the jar for the first time in a couple of days. Unusual texture on this bud, not sure what to make of it. The grind is plush, fluffy. The lineage is Xeno x (GDP x THH). The Xeno derives from Kush Mints x Zkittlez (source: Allbud). GDP stands for Granddaddy Purple, THH stands for Tom Hill's Haze.

Need for Tucson: rolling supplies. Single-wide paper, tips, gummed tips.

Fairly high on Topical Z. Nothing wrong with this stuff. Carefree high, a "peaceful easy feeling." I am out in the casita (a small, detached office) typing and texting. The weather is perfect. I have music going. Blissy.

The Trop Z has a citrus and mint flavor with a menthol finish. It's a spitter, but most j's are. It's tasty and unusual, a happy ride. Songs. Bob Dylan, "Mississippi." A day too long. How was that song kept off of Time Out of Mind? What other uncollected gems lie thereabout? These Tom Petty songs that are coming out, uncollected wildflowers. I will roll my joints and then I will go away. Into the hills, among the saguaro, stray cactus, top of the mountain. Trop Z!

An hour later.... Stoned now. This is the Z, the Zkittlez, the Grapefruit in it? Makes me a little too chill. Ready to re-up, ready for anything.

The Trop Z has carry. Legit. I feel like I must've smoked again but, no, I haven't. I sat down and re-read some writing I did earlier today. I've still got some pep despite several drinks. Binary star, eventually it doesn't work anymore. I'm out there somewhere and spinning. The essence of me here on this planet, thanks to me or whoever got me here, on this weird and strange tangible planet...

Read the full review here...

The Fizz by Psycho Somatic

~ johnbrandall ~ 1 Comment

It's getting a bit late for first smoke of the day but there it is. About to take a dip in the pool. Hesitant to puff first but yolo.

What's it gonna be, though? Mason jar with joints upon opening stanks real good. Gonna burn a The Fizz. Sativa. Could make me cold in the pool but should give me ride.

The Fizz. Whew. Head rush. Menthol, fruity taste. Sharp. A spitter. It's early on. There is a bite, I'm phishing my own brain. Acceptable only in small doses. Notice how Buddhist meditation is not about self-searching, or soul-searching. It's the opposite. There is no self, there is no soul. We will return to the nothingness from whence we came. Somehow that still doesn't do it for me. Buddhism offers never-ending life as long as you are willing not to be you. The Fizz!

Soul spelunking, trippy high, face in the mirror, wide-arc. Or maybe it's just the circumstances. Reset-ing...


The full post awaits through here...