Tag Archives: marijuana

Your brain on weed… Kathleen K. invites you to read (Index of Posts)

Your brain on weed.  It ain’t just the THC, there is an “entourage” effect with all its ingredients.

When Mechoulam’s team identified the first known endogenous cannabinoid, a chemical actually made by the brain itself, he named it “anandamide.” In the Sanskrit language, ananda means “supreme bliss,” which gives us some insight into what Mechoulam thinks of cannabinoids overall.

Marijuana Chronicles  As author of the Stoner series, I promote cultivating the culture.  We don’t all agree which makes it a good topic of conversation.

Pot Power & Politics

Plenty of buzz out there about marijuana.  We’re still far from it being “conformed” into legitimate commerce but we’re on our way.  The ugly truth is some are going to misuse it, like all the fun stuff, and that isn’t reason enough to deny the majority of regular users a substance equivalent to alcohol in terms of being an intoxicant with measurable impact on the body.  The medical argument is persuasive but that’s not what we’re aiming for… not in Colorado.  Not in Washington State.  Let the true value of the plant establish itself in our free society.

The medical facts are astounding, it’s an important reason to create distribution channels, but there remains the “blissful feeling” of getting high.

Marijuana can be a natural remedy for anxiety and sadness for some people which is no more sinister than diabetics needing insulin, a bit of a biochemical boost on the order of a supplement.  The test is the rest of your time.  If things are going to hell in a hand basket then maybe pot is clouding your vision.  If the job is OK and the housing is pleasing and amenities are available then hitting the bong before bed can be clarifying.  Like a glass of fine wine.  Grapes v. Leaves.

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered.  [Extra points if you can identify the reference.]  Pot is supposed to unsettle you, why else bother?  A shot and a beer back is a known mood-changer.  Same so the allure of any intoxicant:  remove the safety.

A few rules:  Don’t operate complex equipment.  Keep away from children.  Don’t prove yourself unworthy.

Excerpt from Stoner’s Bone of Contention available in print and Kindle formats.

I don’t need a lot of laws to control my behavior: don’t drive stupid, don’t act stupid, and don’t perpetuate stupid. I don’t need laws against variations of drunk driving, distracted driving, reckless driving… it’s all stupid driving. The stupider the infraction, the more distressing the payback assigned. Drug laws are no different, too much detail in the no-no-no. If we apply the Stupid Standard, then the drug isn’t illegal, the Stupid is.


“You gotta change the bong water, man.”

“It’s not just the water, the whole pipe’s gunked up.”

“You got any others?”

“… I actually do.”

“So, … are you going to go get one?”

“I’ll have to put water in it first.”

“No, first you have to go get the pipe.”

“Then I put the water in.”

“That’s right. Then give it to me because I don’t think you need any more smoke.”



#legalizeweed #stonerliteracy #KathleenK


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Stoner with a boner (It’s a Long Story) – potcentric sexotic fictional memoir

Stoner-cover copy image                         ADULTS ONLY

Witty and explicit, Stoner with a boner is vintage Boomer porn.  Back then, grass was cheap and VD was curable.  Stoner’s been called a bad boy with good manners.  His desires are simple:  stable job, good pot, succulent  women.  The title is polarizing:  You get it or you don’t.  There’s a guy, he likes to party.  This is his story (so far).  Visit KathleenK.xxx — an online catalog of bedside readers for the adult mind.

“Written in a loose, free-wheeling prose that mimics the narrator’s lifestyle, the story glides from woman to woman and bong hit to bong hit without the burdens of plot or conflict.

… a memorable sexual escapade.”

By Kirkus Reviews Dec. 2012


She was wrapped in clothes.  A turban she unrolled first, letting down a tangle of orange-tipped brunette hair.  A scarf unwound from her tanned throat, a cape around her freckled shoulders…. a silver tube top (in this weather!) above a wrap-around skirt made of red velvet… slave slippers with the long laces twining around her ankles, calves, shins.  My darling beauty contained away from the dirty world, the world full of callous youths like me who would make love to a woman I didn’t understand for reasons I couldn’t specify.  She must have had a few loose thoughts of her own because she engaged this callous youth (at her age!).

Arlene stripped for me, it was a process that did not require my assistance but benefited from my attendance.  I didn’t have to wonder what she saw in me, I was pure raw untouched manhood and I knew that was my prime value.  I was protected from knowing how much more there was to it because, frankly, I barely could control the callous thoughtless relations.  How would I have dared to actually communicate with a woman who knew to dress like that for me?  It helped that I was selfless at times like that, intruding with personal insights would have stalled the woman for whom I played puppet.  Toy with the puppet, fuck with the puppet, forget the puppet… happy puppet.  And, remember, there are other puppets and other women who like puppets.

I didn’t judge the reasons a woman got naked with me, I tried to present my best credentials, never knew which key worked on the gate to speech, to touch, to blending.  I was hopeful, I was healthy, I offered myself to women far distanced from my peer group.  Why not?  My oats sought foreign pastures but still I hunted the open gate.


I dreamt I was the head guy running a lingerie factory – it would be clean and bright, full of work islands where purposeful people cooperated to frame the breast, belly, bottom.  We would flatter the style of one woman at a time.  Panties, boxers, swim cut, thigh-hi, bikini, hi-kini, thong.  How many curves need to be added to encircle the carnal globe?  How can you fault the theory of evolution if it carved Audrey Hepburn out of the simian Lucy or Tina Turner from the mythic Eve.  How much more mysterious that these characteristics spruce up a guy like Lucky Vanous – to look touchable and edible and likable to many many who see you.  Borderline too good to be true.  That gives them a confidence as individuals to appear as symbols (models).

I would talk to the panty designers about maintaining lift, achieving separation, affecting buoyancy.  The fabric department would share samples, explain why this lace would not suit the junior line; I’d invent a slippery non-snag fabric for the sake of the working man’s hands.  Always I’d be asking:  Does this please you?  Is this right?  Should we make more like this?  Tell me how it feels.  Tell me how it makes you feel.


Yes, I love to bury my cock in the liquid-lined crease of flesh, gateway to the foyer of life, the vestibule, the place you make offerings, the site not accessible without cooperation (nullified by force).  That first time and its other iterations, the mild fear that this may be the last (and if it is, it must be the best!) (but how to judge: deepest in, longest held, the tight fit or the right fit?).  Yieldings as separate sighs and cries, the silent slipping of skin ‑‑ some of it rubbing together, some of it peeling apart.  Slapping and crackling, too lusty for some, so many aspects to keep hidden even if you surrender topical access.

Not all my choices, sometimes I’ve been stuffed into a waiting hole, the handiest thing of a moment, as if cocks had been lined up on a table and mine selected to try out. Sat upon or backed up against, my stick taken into the cooze, my driving power not required (not invited) ((not accepted)) (((not tolerated))).

Nothing better than fucking a fucking woman, women who merely confer access aren’t fucking you and you know it, there is no velocity, you can’t rev the motor, you may have a marvelous time but you are not fucking.

The verbal use of fucking has been diluted by people (who mustn’t actually fuck) using the word improperly.  What word will replace it?  Is there anything as essentially provocative as a word we kept hidden on our broadcast bands for many decades, the no-no finally blurted on network TV, bleeped but readable on the lips… no wonder we’re having saran-wrapped sex, we don’t respect the inner-powers that make the scent of a person overcome social considerations and you end up balling your landlady.  Hypothetically.


The Stoner story continues in a second volume:  Stoner’s Bone of Contention (The Weightless Joint) available July 2013.


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