Sunset Sherbet by Good Green

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...


For the full post..

Melonade #8 by Twenty Twenty

May 1, 2025, 12:24

I will try the Melonade again. It's not tasty. Earth, chem, exhaust. A burnt sort of taste. There's Watermelon Zum Zum and Lemon Skunk in the lineage? Can't taste watermelon or lemon, that's for sure.

We'll wait and see what the effects are, though. Indigo Bunting at the feeder. Earlier, the bird sound app identified a Blackburnian Warbler, singing in the backyard, a thin, high-pitched whistle. I did not identify the bird visually. Northern Parula around. The Rose-breasted Grosbeaks have been here for a week.

Dreary day. May first. The 91 Bacio was nice earlier, gave me the lift I needed. Smoking not drinking. Red-eyed vireos have popped up on the sound app, too.

The Wood Thrushes are still around. I didn't realize they also make a thrasher-like check of a call, short of a whippy sound, a little harsh. Their song is fluted, musical, lilting. It provided consolation during breaks of April rain or sometimes persisted despite a light rain. And there is a cuckoo around, knocking its dull chime-box. A Yellow-billed Cuckoo, the rain bird.

Three pair of Rose-breasted Grosbeaks are here. The females are slightly larger than the males but they have a totally different color scheme. Whereas the males sport the eponymous rose breast with patches of white splashed on their black wings and back, black heads, and a belly of white under the bright pink/rose breast, the females are myriad shades of brown with a little cream around their eyes and carrying a large white beak shaped like a cardinal's.

The Melonade is doing the job. The sun is trying to, or— The sun is now finding a way through the clouds. I need some of that vitamin D. I'm not getting much done today but pen-to-paper feels good.

There's a steady "pilot light" behind the Melonade. A current, a buzz. It feels like an inner flame, or a motor. I don't think it's a caffeine buzz; I've only recently had half a cup. I will roll a few more joints. Or go outside into this newfound sun, while it's out. I had turned off the Cubs game a little while back to listen to the birds. Forgot about it until just now.

Smoking without drinking. Something I used to do as a matter of regular habit. Something I've thought for a while I need to get back to doing, more often. But the louder voice in my head says I need to have a few drinks before smoking because... because... I'm really not sure why. Because the smoke will make me anxious? Paranoid? A bad bite, something like a bad trip? Drinking some before smoking does smooth a sharp bite, and yes, I do want that.

Anyway. This is some of the longest, tidies, most composed prose penmanship I've jotted down the entire time here so far at Cougar Trails. This feels more like my Shrine writing from last year. Chipmunk. The plants and the animals are out for the sunlight, as am I.

Melonade, for the win. It is a prime example of bud that has very low jar appeal (dried out; no aroma) and unappealing smoke flavor on top of that while nonetheless delivering the psychoactive effects I am looking for when smoking. I am centered-enough to write. I'm actually writing words I have been thinking, saying to myself, getting them down onto paper so I can remember them and, one day, type up as part of a strain review for the cannabis flower known as Melonade as grown by Twenty Twenty, sold from the storefront Trinity dispensary in St. James, Missouri, USA.com.


Click here for the full review...