From: Claudius Patton <pwhsa@cphabaltimore.org>
Date: Aug 26, 2006 5:06 PM
Subject: cannabis

We are the discoverers of an unknown land. There is abristling of chimneys and towers. Now I will wrap my agony inside my pocket-handkerchief. Let them count out their tortoise-shells, their red admirals and cabbage whites. The waves close over us, the beechleaves meet above our heads. And not only from natural evils will man be largely free. The lady sits between the two long windows, writing. I see a crimson tassel, said Jinny, twisted with gold threads.

The other, painfullystumbles among hot stones in the desert. I raised my head from my flower-pot and looked through a chink inthe hedge. Now I will wrap my agony inside my pocket-handkerchief. Thatis our founder; our illustrious founder, standing in the courtyardwith one foot raised. The black bars on the clock face are green oases. I hatewandering and mixing things together. Look at the table-cloth, flying white along the table, saidRhoda. Now Miss Hudson, said Rhoda, has shut the book. Miss Curry has blown her whistle on theterrace. I will plant alighthouse here, a head of Sweet Alice. Now Mrs Constable pulls up her thick black stockings, said Susan.

A caterpillar is curled in a green ring, said Susan, notchedwith blunt feet. The horrible ceremony is over, the tips, and the good-byesin the hall. The scaffoldings and work-sheds of the Open Conspiracy may fareviolently in that tornado. I am a boy ingrey flannels with a belt fastened by a brass snake up here. She danced in flecked with diamonds light as dust. This is denounced as imperialism, and regarded as criminal. Everybody seems to be doing things for this moment only; and neveragain. The heat is going, said Bernard, from the Jungle. All these releases are plainly possible forhim. I am relieved of hard contacts and collisions. But I am pale; I am neat, and my knickerbockers are drawn togetherby a belt with a brass snake.

Here is Rhoda on the path rockingpetals to and fro in her brown basin. The wavesrise; their crests curl; look at the lights on the mastheads. He is like the seaweed hung outsidethe window, damp now, now dry. Up here my eyes are green leaves, unseeing. Suddenly a bee booms in my ear, said Neville. The black bars on the clock face are green oases. Miss Curryspreads wide the black book on the harmonium. Jinnys eyes break into a thousand lights.