The process of staring into your belly-button otherwise known as navel-gazing occurs upon reaching the higher plateaus of the dabbing stratosphere. The push inward comes on rather forcefully to deny it sends you on another trip all together it is best to merge into the wave. Become the change , look right into the abyss , dance on the sketchy edge. Sooner or later you dive deeper in , one more hit from the dislocation device and you are playing “moon patrol” again. The precious vortex it’s fruity oblivion your only friend. Deep jazz zen state “Miles” levels. Morrison meets Bitches Brew smoking PCP joints. Super fried heavens lost high colonies and the vain attempt to remain in control. Sends you further out of control as your whole body falls asleep over and over again. You reach for the vortex hit.
Three times is the charm. The lint that one finds in one’s belly-button is another story for later, but you can believe it has a tail of it’s own. This dab life , this rolls royce high that excludes so many, it is not for everybody. Some say this dab life is too close to the edge, too intense for the every day. The dab junkie says sit down when you pee. How is life it’s funnest if you are not hardcore about it . All of that “dead poet’s society” hocum , sucking the marrow out of life with barbaric yalps and what not . The point being we are talking about elite highs here, not bullshit popcorn fart bath-salts. Punk rock dabs scare the pussey stoners away. Grow some nuts and help me shut this party down. When we rock a party we bring helmets and sleeping-bags. Step up to get dabbed down , and I will see you on the other side. There is no turning back we must embrace the future , step into the waxy light. We are here to crush the resistance , educate the masses, and rescue everyone from the blahs.