#tahoe banshees

[jungle-angel]

*GASP* 19 and 20 for Miles please? 😊😊😊

Babes.......you had me at Miles Miller.......the genie shall grant thy wish!!!! (lol).

Miles hummed happily as Baby Jesse nested further into his chest, the tiny little baby all snuggled under his cowboy blanket and his blue knit cap warming his little head. Miles's whole entire hand covered his newborn son's little back, holding him safely with the other as the precious little one began falling asleep.

"Dada I got Jesse's blankie!" Benny proudly declared, hauling the heavy quilt into the room after it had been freshly washed and hung in the living room to dry.

"Oh Benny be careful buddy," Miles said, cringing a little as Benny dragged most of it behind him.

"Miles, relax," his mother assured him. "Your dad and I swept the floors earlier and I helped (y/n) with a few things, so it's no big deal."

"You sure Momma?"

"Yes I'm sure," Kathy assured him. "She's doing fine, no need to bring her to the hospital in Bozeman, but Jesse will probably have to go for shots tomorrow."

Miles cringed at the thought of it. He remembered the day after Benny had been born, taking him to the hospital in Lake Tahoe the day after to get his shots. Poor Miles had cried when he heard Benny wailing like a banshee, but it had proved to be for the better.

"You wanna stay the night in that case?" Miles asked her.

"I think we might," Kathy answered. "Snow's getting bad and I don't want your father falling and breaking a leg or some other bone on the ice."

"Plus it's colder than a witch's tit outside!" Otis called from the hallway.

"Hey watch your mouth Otis John!" Kathy ordered. "Your grandchildren are present!"

"I've watched my mouth for thirty years Kathleen Ellen!" Otis called back, laughing. "That's nothing compared to what the boy heard at their age."

"Oh don't even start," Kathy chuckled. "I'm still mad at your brother for teaching him to swear in fifteen different languages."

"It wasn't my fault that Frank learned how to curse in Chinese," Otis informed her.

"Yeah? And lest you forget that your father taught him some pretty obscene things in French and Spanish before you taught him how to drop F-bombs in Japanese."

"Hey when you spend a good year and a half driving a gunboat around Okinawa and having to spend fifteen days there after the fact, THEN come talk to me!"

Miles laughed and rolled his eyes at his parents banter. It made for great comedy in the end, listening to Otis and Kathy go back and forth, but when it came to getting the boys to go to sleep, that was a different matter.

You emerged from the bathroom to find your husband, sons and mother-in-law all in the same room, everything still sore as hell but relieved that at last you didn't have to be encumbered by your heavy bump.

"Oh honey c'mere, do you need help?" Kathy asked.

"Just a little," you said. "I'm still kinda sore, especially in the legs."

"Lets get you into bed then."

You changed into your favorite white lace nightgown, cut low enough just in case Jesse needed to be fed. Kathy left you both alone for the time being, leading Benny out of the room to tuck him into bed.

Once you were snug in your shared bed, you couldn't help but marvel at your husband and your precious little boy all snuggled against his father, nor could you ignore the soft look of pure love on Miles's face.

"My sweet little angel," Miles cooed softly, rubbing the tip of his nose against Jesse's. "You know, you're alot lighter than when you were in your momma's tummy."

You smiled a little listening to Miles coo to the little boy in his arms, but the moment Jesse's little fists went to his mouth, Miles brought him right back to you.

"I think he's hungry," Miles said with a chuckle.

You gently took Jesse from your husband, opening the front of your nightgown and letting your little one latch on. "Giving your daddy trouble I see," you laughed.

Miles felt a stirring in his chest, a deep desire to reach for the sketchbook and his charcoal pencil box to draw the intimate moment. His hands quietly sketched it all out on the thick paper, going from dark to light and shading everywhere in between until a clear image of you with Baby Jesse had formed on the page.

Miles had gone to turn the page when he was suddenly taken aback by an image on the other page, one of him all snuggled with the baby in the rocker, his lips forming a soft kiss on Jesse's head.

"Sweetheart did you.....?"

"I did," you answered, smiling broadly.

"When?"

"When you sat in the rocker earlier this morning after breakfast."

"You were supposed to be sleeping," Miles told you, the smile breaking out on his face.

You stuck your tongue out at Miles, playfully as you carefully switched Jesse to your other breast, laughing a little bit.

Miles kissed your lips sweetly, putting away his book and pencil set. "You need sleep," he told you. "As soon as he's done I'll tuck him in, but I want you sleeping."

"Yes dear," you laughed sleepily.

As soon as Jesse was done and all had been taken care of, Miles tucked him back into his crib at the foot of the bed, his tiny little belly full of milk and ready for sleep. Miles crawled in beside you and kissed you again, turning out the lights and settling in for a long winter's night.

[kelpiedreams]

"She dreams of the ocean late at night, and longs for the wild salt air..."

[Headpiece by KelpieDreams, top by CrowCouture, tail by Mertailor, photo by TahoeBanshees]

[tahoebanshees]

What a beautiful day for a swim! Mermaid Ophelia dives deep into Lake Tahoe, she looks beautiful in her Mertailor Water Lily tail! Check her out at @kelpiedreams.

🌊✨🌊✨🌊✨

[pasttorn]

WHAT MONSTER FROM FOLKLORE PROTECTS YOU?

A BANSHEE.

the banshee is a creature from irish folklore. though not inherently malevolent, it is said to be a dark omen. the ghostly cries of a weeping woman drift in the air, warning any unfortunate soul who hears of impending death. following her like the train of a morbidly beautiful wedding dress, a thick fog envelops her skin as she croons a sorrowful, haunting song which is filled with concern and love for her family. this song can be heard a few days before the death of a family member and in most cases the song can only be heard by the person for whom it is intended. some even go to argue that it is the banshee’s unwitting song which kills the person. you care very strongly about your family and friends. your loyalty towards those whom you care for is unconditional. you are an excellent and reliable friend, trustworthy enough to bear even the darkest of secrets. secrets which you would gladly carry to the grave unless, of course, they harm your loved ones. you will fight tooth and nail to protect the ones you care for, restraint left abandoned. the banshee admires your resilience and passion. it desires to aid you in protecting those you love and to help you navigate a harsh reality. just be warned and keep a close eye on the people you love.

your undying loyalty may just become their undoing…

TAGGED BY:  @babbydeath ( ayy thanks ! ! ) TAGGING:  anyone who wants to <3

[poeproductions]

Changing it up with some MerMay content! 🧜‍♀️If you haven't seen, we also do mermaiding and fantasy stuff over @tahoebanshees! ✨You can see more updates from Mermaid Ophelia @kelpiedreams! Mermaid Ophelia IG Tahoe Banshees IG

Check out our website tahoebanshees.com!

[rocksbackpages]

New for RBP subscribers this week

“When I read interviews with Courtney Love or Henry Rollins, it makes me think we all went to the same high school…” — Moby (Melody Maker, 1995)

PLUS pieces on...

• Jim Kweskin live (1963) • Dylan vs. Donovan (1965) • Jack Nitzsche (1965) • Marvin Gaye et al. (1967) • Traffic's Join In (1968) • Joe South (1969) • The Dead @ Fillmore (1970) • Ronnie Spector (1971) • Stevie Wonder's Music... (1972) • Virgin Records (1973) • Lou Reed (1973) • Joni live in NYC (1974) • Millie Jackson (1975) • Jeff Beck's Wired (1976) • Television (1977) • Shirley Bassey live (1978) • Rick Nelson in Tahoe (1978) • Crime (1978) • KIϟϟ (1979) • Banshees' Kaleidoscope (1980) • Chuck E. Weiss (1981) • Dream Syndicate live (1982) • Freeez (1983) • Teddy Pendergrass (1984) • Brilliant (1985) • Charlie Sexton @ Roxy (1986) • Smokey Robinson (1987) • Stump's Pancake (1988) • Happy Mondays (1989) • Prince @ Wembley (1990) • Banderas (1991) • Neneh Cherry (1992) • Belly (1993) • Gorky's live (1994) • Nick Cave's Ballads (1996) • David Bowie (1997) • Beta Band live (1998) • Limp Bizkit (1999) • Sophie Ellis-Bextor (2000) • Ben Christophers live (2001) • Christina Aguilera (2002) • Ed Harcourt's Sphere (2003) • Skeeter Davis R.I.P. (2004) • Gorillaz live (2005) • All Saints (2006) • Seth Lakeman (2008) • The Whispering Pines (2010) • Stones bootleg (2011) • Stone Roses (2012) • Arctic Monkeys live (2013) • Jack Bruce (2014) • Drowners (2016) • Offa Rex's Queen of Hearts (2017) • Jazz Re: Fest (2019) • Miss Mercy R.I.P. (2020)

• Subscribe and become an RBP member

[robertkstone]

2018 Ford Expedition First Drive Review: Redefining What It Means to Be Big

Many moons ago I attended the launch of the then all-new Ford Explorer. At one point during the event, Ford let us sample a Jeep Grand Cherokee, ostensibly so that us gathered scribes could gauge how much better the Explorer was than its competition. I’ll never forget my driving partner—Pulitzer Prize winner and Wall Street Journal scribe Dan Neil—turning to me, a look of mischief in his eyes, and one of us saying, “Boy, that Jeep’s pretty damn good, huh?” In other words, Ford’s gambit was, as the kids say, a total fail. Dan and I actually ditched the event early and hit up a local casino to play some Texas Hold ‘Em. I won $100 if memory serves. Dan faired less well. As you might imagine on the launch of the all-new 2018 Ford Expedition, I was wracked with déjà vu hopping into a Chevrolet Suburban hitched up to a 5,500-pound horse trailer. Was Ford about to make the same mistake again?

The Expedition is a full-size, body-on-frame SUV. Actually, the big boy is available in two sizes, with the long wheelbase Max version gaining 12 inches of overall length, and about 8 inches of wheelbase. There are two engine choices, too. Well, being honest, two engine output choices. Most trim levels get a 375-horsepower, 470-lb-ft version of Ford’s now venerable EcoBoost 3.5-liter twin-turbo V-6—the same powerplant (more or less) you’ll find in halo products such the Raptor and $500,000 GT. Talk about diversity. Should you opt for the Platinum Expedition, power climbs to 400 hp and torque goes up by 10 to 480 lb-ft. These are handy improvements over the previous Expedition, which shared the EcoBoost V-6 but made just 365 hp and 420 lb-ft of torque. As Bob Lutz so sagely said: “Americans buy horsepower but drive torque.” Power is sent to the rear wheels via Ford’s version of the Ford/GM 10-speed automatic transmission. Rear-wheel drive is standard, though I’d guess most Expeditions will leave dealer lots equipped with four-wheel drive. High gears only, however. If you do need to take your big SUV way off the beaten path, there’s the FX4 variant that comes complete with a two-speed transfer case, aka low gears.

Back to Americans for a second. XL and XXL SUVs such as the Expedition really and truly are a red, white, and blue phenomenon. They don’t make much sense to the rest of the world, primarily because the roads are too narrow, parking is too tight, and gas is expensive. Here? Giant highways, ample parking, and—adjusted for inflation—gasoline costs as much as coffee filters. Judging by what I spend at Starbucks per week, gas is much, much cheaper than actual coffee. In much the same way that a Smart ForTwo makes zero sense if you’ve never spent time desperately searching for parking in a packed European city/San Francisco, supersized SUVs seem absurd to the uninitiated, save for us Yanks and the Middle East. However, once you’ve spent time in big boy you realize there really is no replacement for sheer scale. There’s an elegance to them, a relaxed sort of inherent luxury, a joie de viva Las Vegas, if you will. Just like the full-size truck, mammoth SUVs are both a unique and wonderful American institution. A segment we should celebrate, especially when the vehicles are good. If you feel different, I’m sure What Car? has the Skoda Karoq review you’re looking for.

Back when the Mercedes-Benz GLC won our 2016 SUV of the Year, one of the aspects that most impressed us was the clever use of platform sharing. The GLC rides on a slightly shortened version of the E-Class architecture while featuring the interior bits and drivetrain components from the C-Class. Likewise, the Expedition is in fact a clever mix of F-150 and F-250/350 parts. Structurally, the SUV is a F-150 with a third row and independent rear suspension. However the interior, including the useful twin-glove box arrangement, is straight off the Super Duty. But then Ford went above and beyond both versions of their trucks and added some woodwork, leather, and rotary dials that would be more at home in a Lincoln. Or an Audi, and I say this as an Audi owner. The engine and transmission, as mentioned, are from the F-150, though they feature unique states of tune.

The sheetmetal is a huge improvement over the previous-generation Expedition, which never had a modern metal-to-glass ratio. The greenhouse was too big, making the whole thing look droopy. There is of course a 6,000-pound gorilla in the room: from the side the new, all-aluminum Ford looks like the current Chevrolets, Tahoes, and Suburbans. It just does. Blame the high beltline, but the similarity is much more than just passing. I actually think the Ford looks better, but I want to say something else. The Ford Explorer looks like any number of Land Rovers. The Fusion’s front end looks like an Aston Martin. The Lincoln Continental and MKZ look like modern Jaguars. And now the Expedition looks like its closest rival. For whatever the reason, Ford design kicks out products that look like they come from other carmakers. Does this fact bother me? Kind of. Philosophically I don’t like it, but practically speaking, when a product is good, who cares? As Woody Allen said (I’m paraphrasing): always be original; don’t steal. But, if you’re gonna steal, steal from the best. Imitation, sincerity, flattery, and all that. As for the rest of the body, I think the base grille looks pretty much OK, though I find the Platinum snout a bit busy. Looks good from behind. Nuff said.

Although the outside might look like a mimeographed Suburban, the inside of the Expedition embarrasses the Chevy. The two are night and day, if Ford is day and night is cheap and dated looking. The luxury—specifically in the Platinum trimmed models—continues in the middle row, where the elegant leatherwork is still present, both in terms of the seats and the door trims. The middle seats feature what’s called Tip-and-Slide. Essentially, when you’re trying to access the rear seats, the middle ones both slide and tip forward at the seat track. Long story short, you can leave car seats in place and still get bodies into the back. The rearmost seat (or the way back, as my family called the third row in our station wagons growing up) is sizeable, even in the regular wheelbase Expedition, but it’s definitely not as high quality materials-wise as the other two rows. I don’t think this matters an iota. I imagine the way back to only be inhabited by snot-faced banshees, whacking each other over the head with Gogurt-covered Xboxes or whatever kids are into these days. One gripe: I counted two USB outlets up front, two in the middle row, and just one in the way back. I would double this, if not triple it.

Leaving the gorgeous yet whacky Calamigos Ranch where Ford staged the Expedition launch from on a “dynamic loop,” I might have jumped in front of another car, upsetting said car’s driver. Hey, I knew I had 480 lb-ft of torque, he didn’t. Anywho, you can imagine that he wasn’t exactly pleased, and he chose to illustrate this displeasure by attempting to hang on my rear bumper. Fat chance.  Not only was I able (and willing) to crush him on the straights, but by golly, the new Expedition also boogied through the corners. True, I had the SUV in Sport mode, but even if I had left things in Normal mode, the Expedition is, dare I say it, athletic. Not a sports car, obviously, but I was surprised at how easily I was able to wheel the thing up and down some pretty challenging Malibu canyon roads. Granted the Platinum model has continuously variable damping, but that suspension also has to deal with massive 22-inch wheels. Color me impressed, especially because again, the Expedition is fundamentally an F-150 with an independent rear end. When you’re not hustling the big brute, you’ll find a quiet cabin and a well-controlled, comfy ride.

I also got to sample the FX4 off roader on a pretty challenging dirt course. The big news with the FX4 is the addition of the two-speed transfer case and low gears. That said, the FX4 also gains a shortened air damn up front, underbody armor (sand guard for the engine, skidplate for the oil pan and transfer case, brush guard for the gas tank), model-specific running boards, and nubby Michelin Primacy tires riding on 5-spoke 18-inch wheels. I asked a Ford engineer if it’s particularly difficult to craft a vehicle that will be riding on wheels ranging from 18 to 22 inches. He nodded his head enthusiastically as to say, “Yes, it is.” Also, the FX4 is available in both regular length and Max size. There are a few off-road modes to play with, but Mud and Rut seemed to be the optimal choice for the course at hand.

There was a fairly tricky downhill section, and I commented to the FX4 engineer riding shotgun with me that I would like to run this particular section uphill. He told me that the truck could do it, but that after two waves of 50 journalists each, the sandy path would get destroyed. We actually run into this exact same problem each year during SUV of the Year, so I chose to (mostly) believe him. Anyhow, the new Expedition seemed fine off-road but nothing to write home about. Minutes later we encountered a section that did test the truck. We came to an uphill left-hander whose surface seemed to be composed exclusively of loose shale, some sort of busted rock. I wasn’t carrying enough speed on my initial approach, and as I applied more throttle, the Michelins dug into the rocks. I reversed down a car length, built up some speed, and took a slightly more packed-down but still loose and rocky path up. Although the FX4 struggled a bit, it climbed right on up. Didn’t even have to use 4-low. Impressive. Are there going to be many FX4 takers? No, Ford doesn’t think so. But the ability to do some medium-grade off-roading is there if you want it.

Next up came the real test: towing. Not because of what we were towing, a 5,500-pound horse trailer—the Expedition can tow 9,000 pounds in most trim levels, though the short wheelbase, 2×4 rig can haul 9,300 pounds—but because they had an identical horse trailer hanging off the back of a Chevrolet Suburban. For the past day, the idea had been crystalizing in my head that this new Expedition is pretty dang good. However, Chevy’s big twins are also great, which is why the Tahoe and Suburban are the unquestioned segment leaders, having sold 1,081,773 units between January 2010 and October 2017. Also, the best sales year to date for the GM twins was 2016, and 2017 looks to be second-best. Again, I’m not counting GMC or Caddy sales. That’s a lot of filthy, full-size SUV lucre. Also, as some of you are aware, I spend most of my time these days making videos. For the past five years, we’ve used a Chevy Tahoe (or Yukon, and once in a blue moon an Escalade) as our camera/support vehicle. Meaning I’m in and around big Chevys two weeks a month, if not more. To call me familiar with the GMT900 SUVs is a gross understatement. That said, until you actually drive two vehicles on the same day, on the same road, under the same conditions, you are working from human memory, which is perhaps the most unreliable commodity on earth.

The Ford mopped the hills of Malibu with the Chevy. Not even really a contest. This was most definitely not a repeat of Ford’s blunder with the Jeep on the Explorer launch. The Limited trim Expedition’s 470 lb-ft of torque straight up embarrassed the Chevy’s 5.3-liter V-8 and its 383 lb-ft. Much worse actually, was the transmission. General Motors has yet to drop their iteration of the joint 10-speed unit into their full-size SUVs. So the Suburban came with the antiquated (to put it charitably) six-speed auto that quite literally struggled to maintain 50 mph up a maybe 6 percent grade, even with tow mode switched on. At one point I put my foot flat to the floor for perhaps 40 seconds before the transmission bothered to downshift. Not cool, Chevy. It was so bad I actually asked the Ford engineer if they’d detuned the Suburban. He laughed and said they hadn’t touched ‘em. When the Chevy finally did downshift, the cabin filled up with a wretched sounding, high-pitch wail. Also, the ride quality under load was not so great— the truck seemed to wallow and wobble back and forth, especially uphill. To be fair, a 5,500-pound trailer is near the Suburban’s max capacity of 6,300 pounds, but still.

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[docboots]

On Escaping Dragons

I have written quite a bit about pain, both in fiction and on my reality. We ponder and write as one of the many ways we attempt to justify and process all that happens to us, and for me, pain is a constant part of that equation. I have written about a lot of my troubles and there are still many I have yet to put down, be it from not getting to it or wanting to keep the full memory repressed. Unburying from around the fragments that like to sprout back up, from experience, just leads to more headache.

   With my disorder, everything has to be taken into consideration. Every stressor, every potential jab, every headache into a complex hypothetical equation. One of those equations you don’t quite have written out or structured, but your gut will give you an answer. I have to do this with every interaction. Consider the idea I was born with a rapidly-speaking dragon tethered to my soul.

If it is too stressful, my dragon will surface itself. The dragon that gnaws at my limbs and squeezes at my organs at a moment's notice. The dragon spewing controlled flames over the areas that flair and burn seemingly from the slightest stress, but then won’t appear when you attempt to replicate the circumstances to understand the disorder. The dragon you try desperately to understand, but it refuses. Imagine everyone had the potential to spew, out of nowhere, the stress no matter how mild that will spark it. That it could be literally anywhere, literally anything.

   It won’t even arrive immediately. The dragon waits. The dragon is patient, it doesn’t want you to be able to track its movements and avoid it. It doesn’t want you to understand it, it only wants you to suffer. It even found new ways to do so. All those attacks on your stomach taking its toll, having a hidden secondary effect that would come closely. The stomach acid washing over your teeth every few minutes on those horrid days not seeming to harm them at first, but as time goes on they crumble from the back forward. Chipping away and cracking new teeth as you try to enjoy your meal, exposing nerves so your every waking moment becomes an agonized nightmare. Your smile, though others say they hardly notice it, is not the smile YOU once knew. The smile you saw everyday of your life now stuck with lines.

   This is not decay, though it does allow decay to spread. This doesn’t always have warning. One night a tooth looks healthy, and the next? Half of it has come off as you try eating French Toast. The dragon doesn’t attack the body, it attacks the mind. Already knowing you have a crumbling self-worth from the demons of your childhood and teenage years, it strikes your self-worth. It leaves you paranoid, for you see it is smart enough not to take your front teeth first. It only takes one, like a warning. It doesn’t even take all of it, only half. Like a morbid before and after picture.

   Then the dragon takes your teeth from the upper back. Where the stomach acid arcs on its way out when you vomit with the violence the dragon desires. Like it is squeezing it out of your guts with a bear hug. One by one your teeth from the upper wisdoms forward crumble. The dentists tell you your insurance will not cover it, they quote you numbers that seem similar to sports cars than dentures or implants. You have to bite back the pain. You have to get used to it.

   Whether it is attacking you or not, the dragon whispers sweet nothings to you. Memories and quotes from your past that, like everything in your imagination, is detailed enough it is only one step away from your mind's eye. It convinces you that telling anyone would force their perceptions of you to become closer to your own, which the dragon has made certain isn’t sturdy with its rapid-fire commentary.

    Now imagine you are fighting with this dragon one day. Let lift the veil of metaphor and get real. Picture a teenage me. I know it was sometime after I was 18, and I hadn’t started smoking cigarettes until then. I specifically remember my first encounter with pot to include a cigarette, but this isn’t about my first time. This is about when I found out Pot was magic. Stay with me now, I am not going to “hippy talk”, and if you consider it that... Well, I hope my explanation might help break down that backwards belief.

   All I want is peace. All I want is for my life not to be endless agony. I do not speak merely of mental anguish. Real, burning, physical pain. Complete with seeing your body shift and morph. Your hand swells to a hand-shaped blob that can’t flatten into a palm nor curl into a fist. Frozen like a statue, surrounded by an inflatable glove or pulsing, throbbing pain. Not just on my hand. If it can swell, the dragon can find it. The dragon can mold it.

    Imagine a young adult. Body attempting to curl itself into the fetal position with every body spasming heave. This isn’t typical vomiting, my entire body wants what is clogging my gastrointestinal system out. The problem? It is a portion of that system. Swollen and molded by the dragon. It can puke out every little drop from my stomach, it can heave until all the energy I gathered from that food is spent. It forces me to erupt in heaves that sound like someone is shoving their fist down the throat of a banshee. It forces me to understand the minute details of dehydration, make me delirious in fatigue. My body would tremble through the process and feel like I am in a freezer from the combination of the sweat clinging to my skin and my lack of energy. It is a unique cold. The cold of having no energy for your body, which you are used to pumping out an odd amount of heat, to keep a normal body temperature. Least, that is what it feels like. I have been the colds of Tahoe, I have fallen into a frozen lake... And nothing quite matches this cold. It isn’t colder, it isn’t cold to the bone like ice water. It isn’t an empty cold like depression.

    You are frigid to the soul and every inch in between. Possibly because, at that moment, you truly feel that nature hates you. As pain like you never felt radiates from the swollen cluster that makes your belly mildly bloat, you feel like a god is stabbing you with every spasm. You can feel the blade of pulsing flesh churn in your guts with every dry, spittle spraying upchuck. You have prayed and cursed to EVERY major deity you had heard about. Being a fan of mythology since I was a child, I had a MASSIVE catalog of them. I even tried Nyarlethotep.

   Having been taught the wonders of crazy by Susan, my..grandmother/mother-through-adoption, when they did not answer the first year or so (specifically while curled up in the emergency room the first time this happened.) you switch to cursing all these gods. Being the weirdo I am, I am also thought-cursing these deities while simultaneously apologizing for not knowing their language. So I can properly smack talk their asses.

   Imagine a friend of yours, that pot-smoking friend everyone has, offering you something that might help. He doesn’t offer it with the hissing smile and wily eyes D.A.R.E. tried to claim. It was a concern. It was genuine, somewhat frazzled, concern. So I did.

   The first puff of pot and the pain began to subside. It never went away, even with all the puffs, but instead of feeling like I had a lost chestburster in my stomach, it now felt more like as healing punch to the gut. Better yet, my nausea cleared up IMMEDIATELY. Not mild nausea either. This was a motion-sick child forced onto a gravitron kind of nausea. This was world turning nausea. GONE.

   I COULD DRINK WATER, GUYS. This sounds simple, but the dragon attack would last for days. The time I went to the hospital and had to stay there? Doc said I was a day away from death by dehydration. I was 15 or 16. There was, at that time, no medication that worked. There were other things, but the pills didn’t work well, threatened my liver, and would be useless if I vomited them up. I am trying medication now, but I only learned about it a couple months ago. Given the manufacturing issues and how I haven’t received my preventative still, only notes saying it has been delayed, I am not putting faith in it saving my life.

    As time went on, I learned that not only did it assist with my symptoms when swelling, it made my symptoms clear up quicker. Episodes that could last a week or a month (depending on how much the situation was affecting me) now lasted one or two days. If they even happened, because I noticed the more I smoked the less I swelled up.

   But what about the mental side-effects? You may ask. Well, I noticed something else. I wasn’t losing focus, I was GAINING IT. You see, I have ADHD. I used to, through my childhood and up until I was maybe 17 or 18, be medicated. Once I was an adult, suddenly, every shrink and pill-pusher I met REFUSED to give me ADHD medicine. Instead, they gave me anti-depressants that made my ADHD worse. Even told me that was a common side-effect, even if I went to them FOR MY ADHD. People refuse to prescribe for it. To diagnose it. TO EVEN FUCKING TREAT IT.

   ADHD sufferers often suffer from a lack of proper dopamine creation. Also known as the thing Pot helps you create. I had a LOT of trouble focusing. Not because I didn’t want to. Not, I REALLY wanted to. I wanted to focus on everything. Read everything. See everything. EXPERIENCE EVERYTHING.

  Or at least, my mind thought I did. I was both engaged and disengaged at all times. Smoke enough pot? I am not what I was like on ADHD medication, but I can write. I can focus on my thoughts better. I can push away the PTSD mental snowballs and flashbacks away and better mold them into my stories and characters. I can see my worlds clearer, I can interact with people better. I can see through the agony and the pain.

   I can be human again.

   So, why am I ranting about your blood disease and pot like this? Well. This has gone on a bit long so I will write that in my next post. My post on the fucking horror that the medical marijuana system is. A glorified subscription service pretending it has my health in mind.

   I would like to end this on the reason I kept describing my blood disease as a dragon. It wasn’t purely for metaphor, you see, people throughout my life have argued on pot and drugs. I am not saying everyone using them is good. No, I am talking about me as a fucking DISABLED American needing the only fucking thing I found that works for my problems, so far like magic.

   They say we are eternally chasing dragons when we smoke pot. I am afraid I am not, and never was. The high does not interest or appeal to me. When I smoke, I am not chasing dragons.

   I am trying to escape from them.

[poeproductions]

See our faun legs in action here!

"And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul." - John Muir

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It's always nice to just get away from the city noise and go out in nature. The forest is beautiful in the winter!

We're super proud of our new faun legs pattern! The proportions look great with a human upper half. We're working to get more size availability before we release them for sale! Keep an eye out!