Editorials and critiques of the best businesses and strains in the industry.
A round of Durban Poison wax (from Platte Valley’s “Wax Room”) arrived in the office this week, looking like the glazed back-side of a lemon bar. But even our seasoned critics weren’t prepared for the experience: it was extreme. Possibly the best thing we at Cannapages have ever reviewed, and we knew it immediately. A few of us saw visuals, color-wise. “Pixelated distortion” one described it, “with some shape-shifting.” The other senses enhanced in suite. Pulsing waves grew for the first ten minutes, rocketing us to new levels of the stratosphere. Some of us became unable to express ourselves in coherent English.
We were demolished. It was almost too much. Immobilized, we tried to enjoy the creativity and warped visuals. Medically, a fantastic pain relief took over parts of the body, especially in the legs, greasing sore joints and muscles. But the strain was almost entirely in the brain, a squinting cerebral ringer that seemed to disconnect the head completely. It was rather difficult to appear anything else than waxed-out, between crazy eyes and a stumbling waddle to give it away.
An ideal wax for the high-tolerance aficionado, the madness made for a great stroll. It was strangely functional and thought-provoking, although stupid mistakes were commonplace. Reviewers described their reactions in poetic language: “A blinker and nodder,” “Starry film-gazer,” “Cyclist and philosopher.” “Wonderer and wanderer,” reported a particularly hard-driven editor. “The DP was was definitely not one for focus, or buckling down, getting one’s act together, etc.” After a half-hour, the earth-shattering rush subsided and critics reported “invisible crowns,” faint “vibrations” in the knees and forearms, and more. Munchies evolved after ninety minutes, and did not stop.
Casual connoisseurs will want to remain cautious when they sample a first taste, at risk of losing composure. One would be wise to wait at least 45 minutes before attempting physical tasks such as skiing or hiking. Depth perception may be affected for up to two hours, and people in general should be avoided at all costs, with an exception made for close friends. The entire 5-6 hours were packed with both the urge to explore, and emotions running high.
DP was story-teller, perfect for a neighborhood festival or light jog, but not for the temperamental. Optimistic for the most part, two reviewers reported increased aversion to insects and a paranoid, creepy-crawly feeling. This did not last longer than an hour. By the end, time had slowly regained meaning, but it had taken an eternity. Platte Valley has achieved a magnum opus, clearly worthy of the rare and coveted Cream of the Crop designation, and exactly the sort of thing Nigel Tufnel would smoke after cranking his guitar amp to ‘11.’