Listen. Get on the fast train. Not the one with 20 stops.
This is what you hear all the time. “I feel like pot is more dangerous than the hard stuff. Pot is organic and the other stuff is chemical. So pot is good.”
I argue otherwise.
The hard stuff is a fast ticket. You wake up in your rock bottom or hell in the after-life or heaven, honestly who can tell. Except God.
But what I can tell you that you reach a destination faster than you anticipated.
And here is the problem with pot. What pot does is it chips away at you. A fraction of your mental, physical and meta-physical capacity. It scrapes your soul so ever so slowly, that you can’t even tell it is in session. A forever wanker. That’s it. That is the eternal state you are left in. An empty vessel roaming the surface of this earth. Never reaching anywhere, neither your rock bottom, neither hell.
And there you will be happy as a goat. Not realising that you are perpetually spiralling into a vegetable, one fraction at a time. The end result is a like a forever jail. One you don’t understand or even know you are in.
The hard stuff on the other hand. Damn. It gets you to your destination. One hit. Two. You have arrived. Welcome back. Or it was nice knowing you.
Do Hero-in and get it over with.
This essay is not an endorsement of drug use. It’s a satire: a provocation about complacency, that the slow, comfortable erosion of mediocrity can do more damage to a life than any single catastrophic failure, because at least the failure forces you to notice.