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The Time I Got Stoned and Listened to My Washing Machine

Where does music reside, in the vast cosmic fabric that surrounds us? Is music something we must create—summoning the muses, conjuring phantasms from the ether, shaping the notes with our hands and voices? Or is music something inherent to existence, reverberating in the thrum of the universe’s own never-ending song, pulsing under the surface of the reality we see around us, bursting forth unchecked from the founts of creativity? As lovers of music—nay, as citizens of this spiritual plane—it is our duty to ask such questions. Which is how I ended up, not too long ago, standing in the dark in my building’s laundry room, stoned out of my gourd, watching the uninterrupted advance of minutes remaining in my load of laundry, listening to the shaking roar of the machines, witnessing one of the best musical performances of my life.

Transcending the earthly realm via botanical communion and doing chores go hand in hand. Chores are boring, while marijuana offers a path to discovering the pleasure to found in mundanity. What I’m saying is: Weed makes everything more fun. Puffing that kush is a reliable way to escape the tedium of existence and marvel at said existence instead. In layman’s terms, pot makes the world seem richer and makes music sound incredibly sweet. Focus on anything long enough, and you begin to understand it in new ways. Improve your focus via naturally occurring herbal supplements, and said understanding only expands.

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