The Selected Quirks of Madjag

The Madjag Chronicles were compiled as memoirs and mental snapshots of my experiences during the 1978-1982 guerrilla growing years in Madjag Canyon and beyond. Importing weed from Mexico, lining up connections with the Colombians, and living for months in Jamaica to set up a 1/2 ton Ganja flight were some of my subsequent adventures. In recent years I have been a medical marijuana grower, a pollen chucker, and an Admin/Moderator for several online cannabis forums.

A Night Of Acid And The Devil’s Music

It was March of 1970 and the Doors had just released in February their classic Morrison Hotel album. They were doing a tour to promote the LP and did a large concert at the University of Denver’s hockey arena and stadium.

I dropped acid for the first time outside while embedded in the massive crowd that was waiting to be let in the arena gate. Within 15 minutes I had to lay down on the cement because I was rushing so intensely. As I laid there, I realized in my stony mind that the outline of people standing around me, as I looked up from the ground, was my body’s shape……shit, and then the crowd started swaying and I also realized that if I didn’t stand up I would be trampled by the crowd as it moved inside. I leaped up but I couldn’t walk the direction that I wanted because the crowd was going one way and one direction only. So I flowed with them….

Morrison drank a 6-pack of beer during the first two songs and soon threw his body wildly in the air. He hit the stage hard and the bouncers on stage ran to help him get up, get together again, and continue singing. My best friend was so high that he ran down front, climbed over the lame 3 foot tall wire fence barrier, and climbed his way onto the stage to dance. My friend was 6’2” and 220 pounds of strong desert warrior muscle. The bouncers instantly surrounded him and one particularly huge guy picked him off the ground and pinned him against a wall with his feet in the air. Quickly he was zoomed off the stage and questioned angrily by the bouncers and security team who realized that he meant no harm to Morrison and was merely well-stoned on acid, so they let him go. Acid can really trip you out, eh?

At some point a guy next to me passed me a lit joint. We were sitting in stadium-style chairs and rows so I passed it on to my friend in the chair to the opposite side of me. We were the two seats immediately next to the aisle and when I noticed someone standing there, I looked up to see a Denver policeman scanning quickly in all directions. I’m pretty sure they were looking for weed smokers in the crowd and I felt good that I had passed the joint. Why would I want to suck on some weed when I was flying past Mars and Jupiter? It seemed like a joke.

So I felt quite good to be so high and not have to be smoking and under surveillance. But just then I looked at my friend, who was in the last seat, right on the aisle, sitting right below the cop, and he was still holding the joint which was burning away and producing some pungent smells! I almost had a seizure and started shaking. The cop never looked straight down at my friend or his hand that was holding the joint and instead moved down the stairs in the aisle, stopping here and there to look into the crowd for weed smokers. I shook my friend out of his space trip and pointed at the cop, then at the joint that he was still holding, and he too started to shake. Acid had that ability to make you feel one with the Universe, however it could also make you feel like an animal just ready to be slaughtered and eaten.

A young lady at school that I knew fairly well went camping with two other college friends and on her first acid trip picked her favorite, colorful coals out of the campfire that they were sitting next to and was admiring the intense red and orange colors. As her flesh burned, one of the guys noticed and deftly knocked the coals loose and out of her hand. She hadn’t even connected to the pain yet. Too late…..her unique exploration into the warm beauty and incredibly-colored wood coals turned instantly into 10 more hours of acid-induced Hell, not to mention the months of pain while her 3rd degree burns healed and the use of her once-burned hand came back into to her daily life. There was no music for her that night, but my night of acid music had been delivered by that devil himself, the Spy in the House of Love……