As if the DC Cannabis Movement didn’t have enough excitement in their march to victory, the DCMJ has decided to take it a step further by cloning their marchers. They are calling their march, “March of the Clones”.
“The March of the Clones” is the name given to the march of Washington DC residents to oppose marijuana prohibition. It was launched on February 11th and is set to reach its climax on April 20th, the nation’s 46th Annual “National Marijuana Day”.
Photo by Mike Fluggenk. This is my favorite plate from Saturday’s March of the Clones, but the level of artistic production on this piece is truly amazing, especially the carbonite version of Obama by artist Mike Flugennock. If you like, you can find out more on the DCMJ Twitter feed. I really should have taken more pictures, but I was totally into it. Literally. We met at Dupont Circle, about 30 people in all. Adam Eidinger spoke with infectious enthusiasm about how our own struggles are reflected in Star Wars mythology. Then began a brief open mic. My gaze lingered on a young woman who was taking notes at the edge of the group, and I nestled against her. What are you writing? I’m working on a freelance journalism project for a private think tank, she says. Nice guy, let’s call him Javier because it’s a smart name. Masculine, but without the rough edges or the use of feminine vowels (now don’t ask me what that means, it just sounds good, go with it). So, better idea, they call me Javier. No, that would be incomprehensible. Javier, not me, but the guy who usually comes to these events, came by and offered to give me a much-needed stamp because I had left the house without my crayon. Not bad, I say. After much effort and constant use of adages (20s, baby!), I discovered that his focus was on exploring why people who are addicted think they’re not. She comes across as Swiss when I ask her for her personal opinion, well done. I explain to her that the reason she thinks we are drug addicts is due to a systematic propaganda machine that has turned a drug that has been used for centuries into a crime so they can sell the American people their ineffective, truly addictive pills and, oh yes, lock up minorities to grease the wheels of the new slave paradigm called the American prison-industrial complex. Or I’ll try. I had just taken a pill, so it was much less articulate than this one. Besides, her question evoked some unsettling feelings, so I left the pretty lady. I try my best, and I have all the evidence and science that a brand new wind-up robot would want, but sometimes it’s hard to break free from the core program. You know what I mean? Damn, this is good weed. It doesn’t matter. The walk to the White House began, and just like last time, music (a Star Wars and techno soundtrack, of course) was playing in the van, and we did our best to scare the squares out of them along the way. It was the middle of the day, and despite the thick gray cloud cover in the sky, the streets were filled with people, most of whom showed their goodwill to the cause with smiles and barely visible nods. But no shame to the wonderful young woman who stuck her head out the window and screamed: YEAH WEED! I love grass! on our parade from the back seat of a stationary car. High five! Halfway through, Adam asks me if I want to pull the sound truck. Hell, yeah. I take up the pen with pleasure, but also with some trepidation. I’ve never pulled a heavy tank on the sidewalk in the middle of a parade with heavy foot traffic. The thought of knocking over an unfortunate pedestrian or tipping a load worried me. Maybe that’s why he offered it to me. My nerves made it impossible for me to relax, to concentrate, and my partner in the back seat unmistakably compensated for my constant adjustments as I learned to ride live, on stage. If I had room to move freely, I quietly encouraged passersby and greeted them. We arrived and saw that many more compatriots were waiting for us. It was an encouraging sight. When we arrived at our destination, we parked the PA bus in front of Obama’s house and immediately asked for the president’s help, starting with Adam and then making room for other speakers. I didn’t say anything – note for my not-so-distant future, always have comments ready to protest! Even if it’s just for a little while. Hey, GT, you don’t know who won the Super Bowl this year, do you? Okay, okay, forget it. I’m not interfering with your precious continuum, McFly. Beyond the usual school curriculum, such as Nicholas Schiller’s historical vision and D.S. Scroger’s call for us to produce rather than consume. By the way, we disagree because of my concerns about safety and the environment, not to mention the illegal federal status of cannabis, but I respect his mission and I think the results of his and my work are good for the city. It’s definitely more popular! You see, some growers (certainly not all) think anyone who doesn’t grow is a sucker, a stigma, a customer. But therein lies the rub: stories of farmers being late and crops and equipment being stolen are not uncommon. Frankly, this is a positive side of home burglary possibilities. So not all crops work until the price of cannabis drops to the point where it’s not worth the potential revenue for the criminals, and that’s all crops. So my own view is different. When I make decisions, I calculate the range of possible outcomes. On this basis I assess the risk. Let’s be specific. If I give you a glass of super-scientific vitamin water and you drink it, you won’t starve for six months, but there’s a one percent chance your entire family will be shot by an angry Mexican drug cartel during a family picnic, will you drink it? Would you drink it again in six months? Do you give it to your grandmother or the parent of a child with special needs? The above link is definitely a worst case scenario. There are many, many other unpleasant possibilities and potential disadvantages of storing and keeping thousands of dollars worth of drugs at home that have nothing to do with violence. I believe we need safe, affordable, reliable and easy access to this medicine for every American who wants it, and that means pharmacies. This means that legal cannabis businesses desperately need access to essential banking services to avoid becoming overlapping ATMs. You know what I mean, but you probably shouldn’t google it. I think people should be able to grow drugs if they want to. It’s the Merica, for God’s sake. Let it grow, it’s only a plant! I don’t think it’s good for cannabis to be tightly controlled by a few oligarchs, as it was in Ohio, as it is now in Washington, and as it is in Maryland. I don’t want a future where ounces cost upwards of $400, concentrates cost $150 a gram, and so on. I want a strong and vibrant cannabis industry here on the East Coast, just as I want it in the West. But I’m distracted. 
For example, there was the poignant testimony of Ricardo Rivera, whose child suffers from a severe form of epilepsy, but who became delinquent because he provided his daughter with cannabis oil, which reduced her seizures by 95%! Check out her story on Instagram, #TuffysFight. A righteous man, dressed in a cape adorned with marijuana leaves and a cowboy hat with alligators, stood at the microphone for a minute, rocking. Rachel Ramon of MassCann (NORML’s Massachusetts division) told the sad story of cannabis patients who have lost family ties due to the drug’s illegal legal status. The highlight for me was when a group of pretty white girls arrived, tourists I think, and the blonde boldly approached Javier and, as if not believing what she was doing, asked him if he knew where to find the oil. Good point, ma’am. I was too embarrassed to offer my card, and she didn’t ask me. GT is a hapless mercenary in search of redemption, a knight in no man’s land. Freelancing offers some advantages, but I have to be careful in this feudal DC cannabis society. Unfortunately for her, a few minutes later, just inches away, an amazing young woman I admire caught fire as she spoke passionately about what this unjust war on drugs has done to the black community. When she became Super Saiyan on the microphone, I felt a little sorry for the tourists and started noting the moments until they agreed it was time to not look racist so they could get away with an embarrassing roar. That didn’t last long, guys. Another uncomfortable moment came when K9 Secret Service agents made their way through the crowd. We’ve had marijuana plants in our hands before, but this is 2016, and it clearly wasn’t about that. It’s 4:20 p.m., and while I’m sure there are satellite images to prove who was involved (where else do our tax dollars go?), I’m also sure that getting access to those images would cost thousands of state dollars and be worth no one’s time, so I’ll give my fifth position. Shortly after, the demonstration stopped. At the time, I ran with a group that sometimes lost members like a comet entering the atmosphere, but I stuck to only eating when the Mediterranean was offered because I have a weird eating disorder called ARFID. I’d like to take a rain check on that. By the time I got home, my back hurt from walking, standing and pulling the cart. After a long nap, it still bothered me, so I applied a Pharmer Miller cream, which the team was kind enough to make available to me for my test. After a few minutes, the remaining tension was gone, and he felt better than usual. This is definitely something that needs to be experienced more! It was also good because I had double gigs. I arrived late to the Midnight Edibles Brunch, hosted by TTC Green and Kayaman Premium Edibles, around 1am. The River Lounge was not crowded, which is perfect for the friendly misanthrope next door, and I took my time exploring the many areas of this exceptionally large lounge. In one room the DJ played pop and rap music. People gathered around the Kayaman edible station to cook canna. But the balcony! Oh my stars and garters, let me tell you about the balcony. It is located on the southwest bank of the river. I repeat, this is the fucking river, people! Oh, my God. The evening was cool, but I spent most of my time there. You couldn’t convince me to go. There were several benches to sit on, and from time to time fish would splash around to the great amusement of the public. And you can smoke inside! This is my favorite place now. Eventually I went in and asked for my free edible lemonade, and by then the party had started. I was happy to discover that they also had plain corn bread on sale that was also infused. They even gave me a toast, and it wasn’t like I had a badge that said Hi, I’m GT, weird cannabis blogger or something. That’s very nice of them. I didn’t taste the cannabis until the last bite, which is my personal preference. The light cannabis aroma is interesting, but can be a little repulsive if you only smell it. The lemonade was delicious. The combo affected me just a little, giving me a calm and open mood, and I even tried to strike up a conversation a few times. It gets better this time of year when I think about how much I love football. And that’s not all! Inside, the bar serves wine, great, but I forgot to bring cash. I decide to go upstairs and am happy to see Eddie Murphy and Dan Akroyd’s classic comedy Trading Places on the projector, and plenty of seating for those who prefer to relax rather than chat downstairs. At the back there is a more exclusive balcony, but smoking is not allowed. The only thing this place could use is a dub bar. But it’s so great, with such breathtaking views, I don’t even care. Looking forward to the next event at the River Lounge. I’ll be the guy standing alone, smoking and looking at Anacostia.
