Diana’s Reefer Mission, by R. Masseo Davis

Diana’s Reefer Mission

There once was a man who wore a hat, he was very small a mighty fat. I asked him for a couple dimes, and in exchange he wanted rhymes. I said, “that’s fine I rhyme all the time, I’ll just kick you a line and we’ll both be sublime.” I told him that was my rhyme and to give me my dime. He said, “don’t waste my time with those lame ass lyrics, if that was your rhyme then I didn’t want to hear it.”
The man wearing that hat left me defeated, leaving me without my drugs when indeed I really needed it. I wondered, what was wrong with my rhyme? Why didn’t I get my dime? I gave him a rhyme, and I need to be sublime. I told myself then that before the day was threw, that I’d have my answer and I’d know what to do. I sat there and pondered as I grasped onto my belt, and it hit me there like lighting, I’d ask my friends for some help.
I still consider rhyming to be an art. So I figured my poet friend Jordan was a good place to start. I found my friend Jordan, alone pondering life, in one hand a skull, and another hand a knife. I approached Jordan cautiously, trying not to disturb his focus, hoping that after his moment we could have ourselves a caucus. I told Jordan the story. I said, “Here is the “sitch”. He said, he could solve my problem and here was his pitch.
“A rhyme should be like a supple meal, delicious, wet, and coursing with warm juices that are melted within. It should be so generous and easy to take, that upon entering ones consciousness, all that is felt is pleasure. The way, in which we come to this climactic conclusion, is tangled intensity. It should be complex in its form. It should not only be a value of the mouth and tongue, but also involve the entire body. With this art there are a minimum of two participants, the giver and the receiver. I know that the goal is the end result, but the experience of the journey, the discovery, the indulgence of the moments leading up to the product are where the masters find their muses. So Diana if you slow it down, back it up and take it all in for just a moment I’m sure that you too will come to the conclusion you so desire.”
I couldn’t be confident that this was it, did I now have my answer or was he looking at my tits? I really wasn’t sure concerning what to rhyme about next, I just knew to look within myself and keep it complex?
As I wondered the streets searching for my reefer dealer, I made up my new rhyme that would be a deal sealer. It was gonna be complicated and have nothing to do with my tits, I just planned to keep it real, and just spit it like this. I spit to make the mike like a flammable torch. It’s understandable my mind is a mechanical force, and I’m tyrannical a vandal of intrigable sorts, cause I’m a, warlord with a sword from the Montague hoard speaking the tongue of the lord to bless my vocal cords. But that’s all right it all fine and dandy, cause my blood type consists of wine and brandy; yet, y’all ain’t with me my flows is too loose. I spit more bizarre rhymes than the Dr. Seuss. My flow is heavy; you don’t even know, cause I rhyme from my toes to the top of my afroooooooo.
No that will never do, he wouldn’t want to hear it, when I ask him for some weed he won’t let me near it. Then I had an epiphany about who to ask instead. I’d track down and question my philosopher friend Fred.
I went to Fred, and explained to him my problem, he was whom I went to will issues cause I knew that he could solve them. I asked him confident he would put this problem to bed, he opened his mouth and this is what he said.
“Language is an interesting thing because there is no real definition, that can be pinpointed, by a single human, without coming to the crossroads that is notable as dependency, and matters of many opinions, while it can often be, and often has been described as a translatable text that leaves, room still for many interpretations of the term known as language in regards to it’s purpose and/or purposes, should one include the means of communication, when defining what language is, and if so that intuitively includes many other possibilities, such as terms like “body language”, “sign language”, and this too leaves room for thusly the very possible trait of human communication known as misinterpretation/ conflicting views an example of this is the proverb what is one mans trash is another mans treasure, or the fact that people tend to think that the floor in ones home is the surface that is utilized as a way to transport ones self from room to room, when in fact it is actually the largest self in the entire house, it’s a vicious cycle that turns, and turns, perpetually and yet supposedly, when referring to “language”, it would seem that there are specific criteria that a means of communication need to acquire, an example of such a defining quality is the notion of the means of communication being translatable, thusly the word “no” means “no” in every language, where with modes of communication such as “body language” physical actions don’t necessarily mean specific things at all times, so it would seem that at the very least “body language” cannot technically be classified as a language because it is not a translatable medium of communication like with words, still the question is how can we honestly say that any mode of communication isn’t a language considering communication is the primary function of language intuitively this claim just seems false.”
After that try I decided to stop, cause no matter what I did I couldn’t get any pot. My reliable friends couldn’t help me either, during this desperate mission to score me some reefer. Then it hit me, like after a smack there’s pain, that instead of smoking weed I’d start to snort cocaine. There were a few cocaine dealers in town, but only one that I know, so I went in search of him to score me some blow.
Then there was the man whose name was Jim; who was very tall and mighty slim. Instead I asked him for a couple lines, and in return he replied, “twenty bucks.”