It's 4:19, got a minute?

Without going out of your door
You can know all things on earth
Without looking out of your window
You could know the ways of heaven

The farther one travels
The less one knows
The less one really knows

Arrive without travelling
See all without looking
Do all without doing

I forget what that's like, to really see. To sit back and let the world come to me, more beautiful than the real thing, and knowing that there was nothing I could do that couldn't be done. To look up at the diamond sky and watch everything, the entire universe, meld together until down was up and up was sideways and sideways just meant you were laying in the mud with people as connected as you were.

All things have their time, however, and the decade of imagination has passed. So have a number of its icons. Today, we remember George Harrison, taken from us by lung cancer attributed to his smoking during the sixties. Was it the cigs or the joints that did it? I'm not too sure I want to know. The quiet Beatle, but a Beatle nonetheless, and his influence will be forever felt and cherished.

And so begins the worst time of the year. At least, this year, I ordered all the whiskey in advance and I won't run out before the sixth.

My second has decided to render himself useless until he decides to abandon his most recent bout of idiocy. As such, he's now on unpaid vacation and Cam is taking his place. Am I punishing him for trying to quit heroin or am I helping him by giving him the time to try? I'm not entirely sure. At least his dim-witted little plan came early on in the week, when we're not at our busiest. I give him another day, two tops, before he's back to his usual self and I don't have to worry about reorganizing the schedule around his absence.

( Private. )

I'm fully aware that I'll most likely end up sleeping on the couch tonight for calling attention to this but is that insipid Twilight fad so all-invasive that it's working its way into the drug subculture? Twilight-themed heroin baggies? What's next, glittery, blood-flavoured rolling papers?

Although, I did laugh. Just a little bit! Okay, a lot. Maybe the couch- no.

( Private to Drug Gods. Also viewable by Alcohol and Caffeine. )

( Left for Dave. )

Spent the past two days apologizing. First to Tommy, who decided to spend a few days with his father before their Thanksgiving, for giving him the full-blown anti-legalization rant. And then to Dave, for all the rather nasty and hypocritical names I called him. I was so pissed that after I called him a pathetic idiot whose only purpose in life is to wait for his next hit and he spat in my face I wanted to break his jaw. Thankfully, I managed to hold back. Although Wes does need a new punching bag.

Hey, College! How could you not tell me that I have my own college now? We've always worked well together but now they've gone and made it official! We are so fucking awesome.

I wonder if it's too late to try to throw together a family Thanksgiving. Tommy still needs to meet the majority of his aunts and uncles. It's something to think about, at the very least!

( Left for Heroin. )

Dad yelled at me today. He's never done that before. All I said to him was that it's hypocritical for the DEA to stop citing the AMA on medical marijuana simply because the American Medical Association has changed their viewpoint to accurately reflect the truth. Apparently... well, it was the wrong thing to say because, once he managed to detach the cigarette from his lips, he ranted for half an hour about the DEA, about the AMA, about NORML, about every organization that supports me and then when he was done with that list, he broke out the pie charts that, supposedly, show exactly why he shouldn't be legalized.

I didn't even know he knew how to make a pie chart. It really doesn't seem like his sort of thing.

My substance needs nothing in order to complete it. Toking, in and of itself, is one of the most profound joys that a mortal can know, that I can know. But there's a reason so many of them swear by the 'after-sesh' or 'after-toke' cigarette. It's not about completion or a cycle or them needing anything other than that joint - although, to be fair, nicotine addicts always need - but instead, it's about that feeling that wells up in the throat and the lungs after a good, long session. Tight, clinging, the first hint of a potential anxiety attack or 'oh shit, the pigs!' paranoia. It's ritual, for so many of them, for me, to have that cigarette afterward. And today it's not fucking working. For me, at least. The stupid fucking mortals are puffing away and even though they don't know why I'm pissed, I still think they all look so damned smug about it.

No, Dave, I'm not reworking the schedules for you. I don't care how much you whine about not being seventeen anymore, about how tired you are, about how you can't stay up until two on the runs and open the shop at nine like you did when you were twenty-one. No, I'm not giving up my evenings with my husband because you're exhausted all the fucking time. It's your own damned fault you're constantly tired, don't come running to me about schedules when we both know what's making you feel so drained. No, Cam, you can't have that new computer. No, Bryn, I won't listen to you whine about how your 'Cammy' likes someone else. No, both of you, I won't mediate anymore fucking screaming matches. No, Matt, I won't let you draw a cock on my face with that bright pink marker, no matter how funny you think it would look and, damnit, Wes, no, you and Matt can't have tonight off to try out your new handcuffs.

There is a benefit, aside from the obvious, that comes from having multiple addictions, however. And if I have to empty the shop of heroin in order to make the nicotine cravings subside, so be it. Before I shoot up, though, another few cigarettes.

The first American cannabis cafe opened in Portland on Friday. It might be nice to get away from the crowded atmosphere of New York City for a few days.

( Private; viewable by Heroin. )

Largest Medical Assoc. Wants Review of Marijuana's Legal Status.

The revised policy "urges that marijuana’s status as a federal Schedule I controlled substance be reviewed with the goal of facilitating the conduct of clinical research and development of cannabinoid-based medicines, and alternate delivery methods."

This means nothing. I will not lose my Schedule I status. It simply can't won't happen, even if I have to petition the AMA, smother Jack Herer in his sleep, infilitrate NORML and dismantle them from the ground up and... oh, I don't know. I'll figure something out.

First, I'm going to go for a nice, long walk. Show them how harmful I can be. I can feel a group of stoners, three of them, in an apartment five blocks away. I think I'll reconnect with my people. And then walk away with those calming bangs reverberating into my ears and through my mind. Beautiful.

Heroin- oh, fuck it.

Back to 'normal' or what passes for it, I suppose. Although the plants who bear my buds are female, I think that being male better suits my personality but it was interesting to see how the other half lives. I'll keep the clothes might as well, Heroin wants me to keep the pedicure, although he's responsible for touch-ups and, Hippie? We'll have our girls night still; I'll do a quick change and we can do... whatever chicks do together when they chill. Always wondered about that, actually. It can't all be pillow fights like in my favourite pornos.

Oh! Belated congratulations, Mark, on passing healthcare through the House. See, I pay attention. Somewhat. I'm just happy they haven't thought of using me to fund the damned- I'll be by to pick up Tommy on Wednesday evening.

( Left for Heroin. )

( Delivered by Dave to Rohypnol. )

( Delivered by Matt to High School; separate gifts for Sean and Courtney. )

Once we're back, I need to set up an appointment to have one of my tattoos removed. Can't have a powder blue diamond over my heart forever. And then another appointment for some new ink. But, first, everything Nevada has to offer. Still can't believe Mark gave us a key to Area 51!

When I called to check in on his health profit margins, it took me ten minutes to convince Dave that, yes, it really was me and that, no, I haven't gone completely and totally insane. There's nothing insane about trying something new, as trippy perfect weird as it is.

No jokes. I can still kick all your asses, no matter what's between my legs.

( Hippie. )

( Private; viewable by Heroin. )

( Private. )

Breckenridge legalizes pot.

Recreatio- adults- an ounce- fuck. Fuck you, Mark. Fuck your brother, too, for good measure. And Tomm- And all of you fuckers who like to play around with a god's base and not give a shit how it affects him.

Maybe it's not so bad... no.. Can't lose the illegality. Can't lose Schedule I. Can't lose what makes me a Drug. Can't be regulated to the side and become a 'cousin' after leading the family for so long. Can't lose his respect. Can't, can't, can't.

Fuck this shit, I'm going back to sleep.

( Phone call to Mark. )

Marijuana sparks joint-party powwow.

As amusing as the idea of Ah-nold chatting about me with other state leaders is... they're talking about recreational use. I know I'm trying to roll with the punches here, at least when it comes to the medical shit, but this is just a tad too worrisome to 'roll with'. But, hey, at least I'm not blaming Mark for this one, Terminator's a Republican.

( Left for Heroin. )

( Delivered to Rehabilitation. )

I recently told Allegra that I expected everyone in the general immortal population of New York City to be reading this with breathless anticipation, just waiting for the next installment in my oh-so-interesting and tumultuous life. I was mostly joking, of course, but what other god gets married and is barely back in the city for a day before getting attacked by some sort of green water-spirit who attempts to drown him in a reservoir? Maybe you all should be breathlessly anticipating the next installment of 'what the fuck has he gotten himself into now?' because the entertainment value of this shit is through the roof.

I kicked that bitch's ass. Sort of. It was iffy there at the beginning.

( Drug Gods. )

( Sato-san. )

Still, rather annoying. Need a new iPhone, need to load up my new iPod. Need to get new ID, the birth certificate is going to be a bitch. My favourite gun got all waterlogged and my best leather jacket is thoroughly ruined.

Stupid water-bitch.

I just managed to drag myself out of bed Heroin as a male is everything I could want but he changed forms this morning and, oh, I- and I wanted to thank everyone for coming out to our wedding yesterday. It means quite a lot to both of us that you were all there to share in our happiness. Thank you notes for all your thoughtful gifts Lethe... and Mark- the swipe card- Area 51! will be sent out in a few weeks, promise!

Oh! My husband bought me a throne as a wedding gift. So I suppose that 'Drug Prince' nickname, which I did not coin and do not encourage, has even more truth to it. I just need a crown and Heroin on my lap calling me the Drug Prince and I'll be good to go! And I got Heroin a Friesian; maybe I'll buy myself a horse soon and we can go riding together.

But I should get back to bed. Why am I even bothering with this thing when my husband is waiting- Apparently, weddings tire me out.

( Private; visible to Heroin. )

Apegada a mis brazos como una enredadera,
las hojas recoían tu voz lenta y en calma.
Hoguera de estupor en que mi sed ardía.
Dulce jacinto azul torcido sobre mi alma.

( Anonymously delivered to LSD. )

( Private. )

Dave worries too much. I was just out imagining but now I'm tired. I'm not like my stoners, I don't burn out after too much of myself, but I guess this is as close as I come. But we've got the lower drug runners handling most of the business tomorrow so I get to sleep in. I'll make a fort out of the tetris pillows!

( ooc )

My substance can cause distortions in perceptions of time and space so it's only natural that I can experience it as well, in more than a 'time flies when you're having fun' sort of way. Time speeds, slows, drags on and races by and I just go with the flow. December of 1969 seemed to take a century whereas the past six months seem to have gone by in a blissful blink of an eye.

I'm still not sure what the next four days are going to feel like. It'll probably fluctuate.

( Left in their bedroom for Heroin. )

U.S. to ease medical marijuana prosecutions.

You know, Mark, it'd be nice if I had some sort of warning when you randomly decide to change policy on me like this so I'm not waking up with a headache and wondering why before I log onto my computer and check the news to figure out why. It's just polite, man, if you're out to change someone's base, to let them know when you're about to take another step toward your desired end result. But your manners are rather similar to your parenting skills - nonexistent - so I shouldn't be too surprised.

There's this, though, and however those numbers are spun, it's very gratifying. 166 million, one in twenty-five, four percent of the global adult population... if my head didn't hurt a bit I hate these shifts I'd be out there with my stoners celebrating. Maybe tomorrow, I haven't made the rounds of the high schools in far too long.

Tonight? My very own episode of that insipid show, Intervention.

Fuck, my head hurts. Drinking all night, well, it was to be expected but clearing out the plane of all those little bottles of booze on the early morning flight back probably wasn't the best idea. And I think I'm going to have to pay the limo company for all the damage we did; aside from the burns and the spills, I'm pretty sure we all threw up on that nice plush carpet at least once. And I might have had the brilliant idea to spar with Wes in our hotel suite at three in the morning, so I probably owe the hotel a few thousand dollars as well.

But, damn, was it worth it. We did end up finding a wedding dress for Matt. Of course, all the stores were closed by the time we left the second club, but someone had the brilliant idea of throwing a brick through the window, stealing the twenty-five thousand dollar display dress and then running like mad when the alarm went off. Uh, that someone might have been me... oops? But Matt was a blushing bride for the rest of the night, so, again, totally worth it. But, I'm home and there are nooks to watch unfurl and old friends to reconnect with and most importantly a husband-to-be to dote on.

And a wedding in exactly a week. Fuck, I'm terrified.

( Song and Love. )

i love VEGAS and bahcelor parties and booze and poker and hotboxing in the limo and wacthing matt hit on dave and watching wes stumblle around all drunk and hell even cams getting into the whole thin. he wants to go to a strip club! but SHH dont tell misch or bryn. well bryn might not care but mischmisch might. but i think we mihgt have to go to two strip clubs becaus matt wants to go to a naked dude place and cam and wes want to go to a nkaed girl place but I dont wanna go to either because why would i when tomorow i get to go home to the most beatuiful being that exists in the whole wide world? silly strippers.

ohohoh! we just drove by a wedding capel. can guys get married in this state? GLIBT get on that right away so I can watch matt and wes get married, kay? it can be my pressent!!!

hot damn, i get married in a week. now there's a mindtripfuck. a good one of course HA! i get to mary HEROIN. i get to wake up to those eyes and his smile and fuck, his hair is just- and his music and the coffee he makes and... oh just everthing. but i should stop gushing before i em- hum- make him blush and because wes wants my oned ollar bills and we gotta find a weddin dress for matt even though he cant get married here because its goin to be fucking hilarious. i wanna hava bac- party like this ever year! can i do that? dont care, m doin it. see you all at the wedding!

( Sent to Heroin at some point during the drunken haze. )