___________________________________________________________________________ * April 21 Phucked Phreak Productions Vol 18 * * Proudly Presents.... * * * * \ / \ * * / / \ \/ * * \ \ / \\ . * * \ \ / \ ____________________________ * * \ / \ ||||||| Rasta Man | * * \ \ |||||||____________________________| * * ' / * * * * WARNING: The Attorney General has determined that these files may * * be as dangerous to your dogma as that cigarette is to your * * Health! * *__________________________________________________________________________* Rasta Man And The Striped Snake (If Chaucer were a Rasta...) Feb. 14/91 by J O H N C O N S T A N T I N E While on a solitary hiking excursion through the forests of Jamaica I met a rastafarian recluse with an amazing tale. A couple days ago I had arrived in Jamaica ready to continue the ethnobotanical studies I had begun at school in the U.S.A. I had left the small village, where I was staying, at dawn. It was now approximately 3:00 P.M., judging by the suns position. The air was hot, steamy, and drawing breath was like sucking on a steampipe. The hike had been mostly over flat land but now I was approaching a steep hill covered with dense vegetation. The nearer I got to the hill, the tougher the going got. After reaching the hills foot I decided to break camp for the day, planning to resume my travels in the morning. After about one half hours rest I noticed an irregular stream of smoke rising from a rocky outcropping atop the hill. It rose in a strange sort of puffing pattern, like indian smoke signals. The bush was far too thick for me to make out the source at this distance but I assumed it was some kind of small cooking fire, probably outside a crazy old hermit's hut. The brief rest and my aroused curiosity were enough to give me a second wind. So I started trudging slowly uphill. As I neared the outcropping a familiar smell reached my nostrils, lighting a fire beneath my feet. Soon I could make out the smokes source. On a rocky platform painted with neon rastafarian symbols sat a cross legged native, face obscured by dreadlocks the color and texture of steel wool. He was smoking a hookah about three or four times the size of my head. An evolutionary step above the caterpillar in 'Alice In Wonderland' he blew smoke letters, not just plain O's, but a whole alphabet plus a library of rastafarian symbols unrecognizable to me. In fact, as I was to learn later, he could blow whole motion pictures, not just black and white but in color, with subtitles! "Jah love, brotha", he blew, raising his right hand in silent greeting. Being an ethnobotanist, with a keen interest in psychoactive plants, I had to know exactly what he was smoking. "Howdy. What's in the bowl, friend?" "Nuthin but da best, mon. It's da last o I stash. I would be honored if ya will smoke wit I, mon.", the letters drifted slowly downwind. "Be glad to please you.", I said lowering my mouth towards the hookah. The rastafarian symbols, particularly the towers of Babylon, took on a special significance as I happily exhaled, passing the hookah back to it's owner. "So what ya come up here for, mon? Looking for da holy man at the mountaintop? Not I, mon. I just a burnt ole man." "Actually, I'm interested in plants... psychedelic plants. I'm searching for the perfect drug." "If Jah made better than this, mon, I know he be smokin it hisself right now." "... Well, mon, there may be better." After saying this to me, or rather puffing it, he took a long pull on the hookah after which he began projecting a moving smoke movie... in color! Against the still blue sky, the performance was amazingly clear. *** This rasta had obviously left his rock not too long ago because, in the style of 1990's movies, his came complete with previews and even a Coca-Cola commercial before the main event. A young boy is sleeping, dreaming of Coca-Cola. He is driving down an unmarked highway paved with rusting Coke cans, when suddenly the road begins peeling from the ground, angling up into a black void. After a long drive during which he begins to panic a red blotch far down the road comes into sight. Soon it is recognizable, a Coke machine. The boy gets out and touches it. The machine collapses into a paper coupon for a free case which the boy folds up, puts in his back pocket, and later redeems. The two previews were incomprehensible. The old man was probably projecting his hallucinations, so I'll get right to the movie which was a rastafied version of Chaucer's Nun's Priest's Tale. *** Dark thunderclouds gathered over a small town on an unnamed island. The first droplets of cold rain were beginning to fall, wetting the occupants of the leaky tavern below. The smoky air swirled as the rasta zoomed in on the back corner table. Three beings sat there drinking recklessly and smoking like chimneys, a younger version of the rasta, whose name I later found out was Aerol, a yellow and red striped snake, and a ganja farmer named Maelcum. Following the snakes advice both men had renounced meditation and religion. They now sought enlightenment in ganja and other psychedelics for the snake had told them, "Zion is a state of mind." Long into the night the snake filled their minds with heinous lies and misinterpretations of the truth. At 2:45 A.M. a messenger burst in bearing sad news for Aerol. His brother had just been brutally murdered by the islands scourge, Death. "Death, my friends...", the snake hissed, "can take one south to Babylon or up to Zion. I say we find this Death and Zion." The two friends, enraged at the fate of Aerol's brother, quickly agreed. Despite the protests of their friends the two could not be dissuaded from this plan. After stopping briefly at Aerol's home for weapons they set out into the now pouring rain. The snake slithered swiftly behind, giving directions. Here the old rasta paused a moment to catch his breath and to comment on what a fool he had been. Then, in a puff of smoke, he continued. The trio had come to a three pronged fork in the road. From down the middle road an old man, withered horribly by age, approached. "Greetings friend! What news have you of a specter named Death? He is said to be roaming this island. Indeed he has just slain my brother." "You are lucky", the old man slowly muttered, "to be speaking with me at this time for I have just seen Death. Simply take the wrong fork in this road and you cannot miss him." At this Aerol replied, "And which road, old sir, is the wrong road?" "With that wretched guide you cannot follow any road but the wrong." With that he spat hatefully at the coiled serpent. In response the snake struck out, sinking it's long fangs into the old mans groin. "Come, we have lingered to long.", the snake commanded. With the snake now in the lead the two young men marched down the wrong road. (The old rasta had it labeled with big puffy red cloud-like lettering.) Soon they came to a greenhouse containing a small forest of hydroponic ganja, the most powerful variety ever known to mankind, a highly addictive hybrid. "Zion!", the two men exclaimed and the snake nodded in silent agreement. "This was not here before Maelcum. We must harvest, sell, and smoke before it is discovered." "Certainly.", replied the snake, "Aerol and I must stand guard while you bring supplies. Hurry! We must harvest before..." An strange glance passed between the friends and without exchange of words they decided to kill the snake as it was no longer needed. Before it could finish speaking the deed was done. "Maelcum, get supplies now. Hurry!" "Be back real soon Aerol." As Maelcum's figure faded away into the nights blackness Aerol began planning his death. *** After sneaking back into town Maelcum went straight to a weapons shop. For a small amount he purchased a rusting dagger with a comfortable grip. It would be perfect for the job. After a stop at the only market in town open at this hour he prepared a final meal for his former friend then gathered enough gardening gear for one man. *** Back at the greenhouse Aerol stood quietly behind the door, a straight razor open in his hand. "Aerol, mon, lets eat...". With a sickly wet sound the razor ripped Maelcum's throat wide open. Grinning widely, knowing he need never work another day in his life, Aerol plucked a sticky bud and swallowed it. One hour later, as it took effect, he muttered sadly, "I am in Babylon... Jah save me!" *** As the massive hookahs contents slowly burned out the old rasta puffed out dying words, "You are following the wrong road, mon, turn back and meet I in Zion... Jah be with you." **************************************************************** This story, by me, was originally written for the P.C.W.W. Creative Writing Workshop at Morton college, where it won an honarable mention which I don't think it deserved. Please do not use this file for anything other than enjoyment. Distribute it freely but don't enter it into any contests or anything. ***************************************************************** Call these bbs.... The Cage --- 708-945-3665 (PPP headquarters) Ripco --- 708-528-5020 ***************************************************************** Sex is Peace. Ignorance is Slavery. Consciousness is Freedom. Peace \/ ****************************************************************** ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????