Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Toke Signals TV with Steve Elliott: Cannabis News (Episode 8)
The seventh episode of Toke Signals TV, the video blog of Steve Elliott's TokeSignals.com, takes a look at some of the biggest marijuana news stories of the past week.
Toke TV is a joint production of Toke Signals and http://awopradio.com/
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
You happened to me.
You happened to me. I was happened to
like an abandoned building by a bull-
dozer, like the van that missed my skull
happened a two-inch gash across my chin.
You were as deep down as I've ever been.
You were inside me like my pulse. A new-
born flailing toward maternal heartbeat through
the shock of cold and glare: when you were gone,
swaddled in strange air I was that alone
again, inventing life left after you.
I don't want to remember you as that
four o'clock in the morning eight months long
after you happened to me like a wrong
number at midnight that blew up the phone
bill to an astronomical unknown
quantity in a foreign currency.
The U.S. dollar dived since you happened to me.
You've grown into your skin since then; you've grown
into the space you measure with someone
you can love back without a caveat.
While I love somebody I learn to live
with through the downpulled winter days' routine
wakings and sleepings, half-and-half caffeine-
assisted mornings, laundry, stock-pots, dust-
balls in the hallway, lists instead of longing, trust
that what comes next comes after what came first.
She'll never be a story I make up.
You were the one I didn't know where to stop.
If I had blamed you, now I could forgive
you, but what made my cold hand, back in prox-
imity to your hair, your mouth, your mind,
want where it no way ought to be, defined
by where it was, and was and was until
the whole globed swelling liquefied and spilled
through one cheek's nap, a syllable, a tear,
was never blame, whatever I wished it were.
You were the weather in my neighborhood.
You were the epic in the episode.
You were the year poised on the equinox.
like an abandoned building by a bull-
dozer, like the van that missed my skull
happened a two-inch gash across my chin.
You were as deep down as I've ever been.
You were inside me like my pulse. A new-
born flailing toward maternal heartbeat through
the shock of cold and glare: when you were gone,
swaddled in strange air I was that alone
again, inventing life left after you.
I don't want to remember you as that
four o'clock in the morning eight months long
after you happened to me like a wrong
number at midnight that blew up the phone
bill to an astronomical unknown
quantity in a foreign currency.
The U.S. dollar dived since you happened to me.
You've grown into your skin since then; you've grown
into the space you measure with someone
you can love back without a caveat.
While I love somebody I learn to live
with through the downpulled winter days' routine
wakings and sleepings, half-and-half caffeine-
assisted mornings, laundry, stock-pots, dust-
balls in the hallway, lists instead of longing, trust
that what comes next comes after what came first.
She'll never be a story I make up.
You were the one I didn't know where to stop.
If I had blamed you, now I could forgive
you, but what made my cold hand, back in prox-
imity to your hair, your mouth, your mind,
want where it no way ought to be, defined
by where it was, and was and was until
the whole globed swelling liquefied and spilled
through one cheek's nap, a syllable, a tear,
was never blame, whatever I wished it were.
You were the weather in my neighborhood.
You were the epic in the episode.
You were the year poised on the equinox.
~ Marilyn Hacker
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Stop Apologizing For Who You Are
Stop apologizing for the things that you enjoy smoking.
Stop apologizing for the things you enjoy eating.
Stop apologizing for the things you enjoy wearing.
Stop apologizing for the things you enjoy watching.
Stop apologizing for the things you enjoy hearing.
Stop apologizing for how you prefer to spend your day.
Stop apologizing for the things that make you happy.
Stop apologizing for loving the things you love.
Stop apologizing for who you are...
Monday, August 5, 2013
Toke Signals TV with Steve Elliott (Episode 2)
The top cannabis stories of the week from Steve Elliott at TokeSignals.com -- Your source for uncut, uncensored, no-holds-barred, non-corporate-controlled cannabis news!
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Menace Demarco ~ Addicted
I'm your ex-boyfriend
I'm the one that you call
When the new dude ain't doin' it right or not at all
~ Menace Demarco
Monday, June 24, 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
The Wild One
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
Coming... Non-Corporate-Controlled Cannabis News -- Toke Signals
Do you trust big corporations to keep your best interests at heart?
Then why do you trust them to provide you with something as crucial as cannabis news?
You don't have to trust them, you know. Coming soon, the website Toke Signals will provide uncut, uncensored, no-holds-barred coverage of the world of marijuana. And there are no corporate bosses telling us "you can't say that.
We don't care whom we piss off by telling the truth about cannabis. Stay tuned!
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Goodbye, Toke of the Town
Steve Elliott here. I'm turning over this account to the suit at Voice Media who fired me (Keith Plocek). Goodbye and good luck!
— Toke of the Town (@TokeOfTheTown) January 22, 2013
Friday, November 23, 2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
A Room Full of Ghosts
There's Uncle Carl, pulling you into his stories of genealogy and history and politics. There's Uncle Hoyt, playing his acoustic guitar and singing "North To Alaska."
There's Aunt Sara, with her delicious, made-from-scratch homemade rolls. There's Uncle Hubert, so proud of his colorful holiday socks. There's classy Aunt Jewel and her husband Uncle Jack, a Chicago transplant who loves to talk about Flatt and Scruggs.
There's Dad, among all his brothers and sisters, looking as happy as I've ever seen him. There's Aunt Martha Jean, giving me a hug and a slipping a $5 bill into my hand because I made the Honor Roll. There's Uncle Gober, regaling me with Navy stories of the Galapagos Islands and the Middle East.
There's Aunt Mabel, leading everyone in the singing of the Christmas carols. And there's Uncle Ernest, visiting from out in Texas, with his stories of pot smugglers who didn't quite make it across the border.
From outside the Old Elliott House as I slip into the distance, I can see the tree, and the lights; I can hear the happy voices and the Christmas carols.
There goes a world. And a worldview. And a childhood.
I'm in a room full of ghosts.
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