 Book Reviews
with Robin Osborne
Jesus Weed
By Gerald Taylor
Ebury Press $29.95
 Gerald
Taylor's hilarious account of the 'misadventures of a young man in search of the
perfect high' is an elegant version of the self-published paperback that the Nimbin-based
author (and former Rainbow Café proprietor) used to test the market for
his undoubted writing skills.
The title comes from an especially strong strain of marijuana that the NZ-born
author, then in his late teens, encountered on his first trip abroad. The lift
in his Bangkok backpacker hotel - one that this reviewer remembers - was 'covered
with handwritten ads for various black market goods and services' and amongst
them he noticed an interesting two-liner - 'JESUS WEED. Room 808.'
The room's occupant, Michael, was a 'wandering ganja pilgrim, teaching the
lessons of inner harmony and, incidentally, tracking down, and smoking, the filthiest
boont that humanity had developed in the last 30,000 years.'
The pot was named for being 'one step up from Buddha sticks, man' and Taylor
'joined Michael for a pre-dawn breakfast; a whole stick wrapped in about ten papers,
the bamboo core teased out after the beast was wrapped, light one end and blast
off.'
In the pre-Schapelle Corby world this was the norm for overland travel and
Taylor had the best of it, bonding and bonging with the locals, and laughing at
the world, not least at himself.
'Sure, I had other interests, but pot was my one abiding love. With all the
clarity of my scattered mind I knew my path was to worship Mother Earth through
the study of her handmaiden, Cannabis,' he muses from the suitably reflective
setting of Nimbin, recalling his adventures 'getting shit-faced in the pot-growing
strongholds of the planet.'
His travels included Lebanon, India and Afghanistan, where, escorted through
the remote mountains by a hash dealer, he observed that high altitudes make water
boil at a lower temperature, resulting in crunchy rice.
'The solution is simple: boil it in sheep fat. I knew that would get your mouth
watering. The solution to dealing with the solution is, of course, dope. Smoke
good Afghani and you could even eat at McDonalds, a far more challenging proposition
than poking down crunchy rice floating in mutton fat as it congeals on your spoon.'
Whether observing Afghan warriors, Maori hunters or Irish druids, all as high
as kites, Taylor has a sharp eye, a ready wit and the remarkable ability to remember
the outrageous events that befell him.
- Books reviewed are available at Book Warehouse, Keen Street, Lismore.
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