can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis.

While a Sativa man by inclination, a recent visit to Divinity Tree, 958 Geary Street, San Francisco, turned up a superior Indica named AfroBerry. This strain might just as well be called The Big Easy for it's sense of languid well-being. Like a lazy breeze on a warm summer night, it has a long arc that is both contemplative and refreshing. Ideal for anxiety, pain-management, or kicking back with some good music.

" The past is never dead. It isn't even the past..."
William Faulkner


The Road To Damascus

In January of 1965, the drums were beating loud and clear. The Style had begun permeating the culture and was slowly leaking into formerly square quarters, such as advertising, journalism and publishing. Over in England this Style had already manifested, in all its feathered glory. i had secured a part in an original underground play which performed in a large, damp, Manhattan cellar. Beyond that there were a few TV commercial spots. I was still studying but the acting career was on life support. One day while hanging with Jerry Cole, he reminded me that i was primarily a writer. In a moment of clarity i realized he was right. Problem was, i had made a few false starts on the Great American Novel, but what was really happening to my generation had a tendency to freak out most editors who had yet to come to terms with The Beats, much less the Hippies. Still, i took it seriously and began writing poetry again. i would practice writing to jazz, trying to conjure images, phrases, spontaneously.
i had also become something of a man about town, my services connecting me to scenes everywhere in the city. One of my favorite haunts was The Palladium, the mid-town dance palace that was home to bands like Tito Puente, Eddie Palmieri, Johnny Pacheko, and the most beautiful dancers in New York. ( mediocre dancers were loudly encouraged to leave the floor) The story went that one night the police raided The Palladium, sealing off the exits. Someone had the wit to turn out the lights. When they returned, the floor was littered with drugs and weapons.
My relationship with Cathy had peaked, and i was still yearning to go out in search of the source.
Every time i heard stories of people going to, or coming from, London, Paris, Beirut, India, Nepal, or Mexico, my appetite for adventure yawned deeper. i began making plans in that direction.
New York was working for me, nice west-side pad, easy rent, solid income, hip-cred, lovely young ladies, but i needed real swashbuckling experience for my forthcoming novel. And trekking to the Middle East for a couple of kilos of hash sounded extremely cool.
So to this end i gathered a group of investors, four in all, to put in $200 each, towards my junket, with the promise that they would receive a pound of hash. Upon receipt they would then send along $500. On the surface a nifty plan. Ray came in, as did a pop artist named Steve Vasey, The Twins of course, and a would-be hipster name Jeffrey.
So it came to pass that i booked a one way passage at the N.E.W.S. Shipping company, on a Yugoslavian freighter named The Tuhobic, bound for Tangier Morocco, and Naples Italy. Fittingly, it was the ship's maiden voyage.
Among my effects were vinyl albums by Ray Charles, Miles Davis, The Fania All-Stars, Jackie McLean, and Thelonious Monk, a copy of Siddhartha, a blank diary, a Rapidograph pen, about $1100 in cash and a leather pouch filled with Acapulco Gold. I was ready for the high seas.

Suggested Reading: The Armies of The Night by Norman Mailer