![]() ![]() I have read it in the tunnels of their eyes. War builds and tears-sifting sand and shifting tide because cliffs will not budge. The body is built on, above, under, inside war. No timeline, no war zone.īack to the cutting board, where a father buries hope in his hands, flanked by the sun. Home exists in the sockets, which hold all they have ever seen-until the end. Later, when a woman’s hands strum a guitar and the milk pours out, his hands dig into the blade of a pocket knife, to cut the stream of tears. “I burned it down,” he says, a stone marking the spot where a mother once held a face. The smell made my stomach turn.Ī man stands inside what used to be his store. “I always end up there, anyway.”Īt 10 p.m., he strolls in with a smile, carrying fresh matnakash – that finger-pulling bread – and a head of lamb. In Stepanakert, a soldier gives us his room, to sleep in his car. I wondered if the boy saw her when his head left his body. In Karvachar, everyone is searching for their mother. We squeeze the skin and run our palms across smooth curves, but there’s no juice. “What rank do you think he was?” she asks, not lifting her gaze from the green shell.Ī soldier without his helmet is a baby without a mother’s breast. There’s no fruit-only rocks.Ī friend picks up a helmet from the sidewalk. The following is a collection of stories-reflections, memories, dreamscapes-of this journey from November 13-15, 2020-the immediate days following the 2020 Artsakh War. ![]() With a truck full of instruments (the musical kind), we intended to spend an afternoon singing in Dadivank, a 13th century monastery that would soon be ceded. Three days later, my friends and I ventured to the warzone. In the morning, I learned that that was the moment when protestors stormed into government buildings, just blocks from my apartment. After 44 days of military planes flying overhead, we didn’t know what to expect. “Did you also hear what sounded like a small boom?” I asked. on November 10, 2020, I awoke to the sound of a pop.įive minutes later, my friend who lived on the other side of Republic Avenue texted, “Hey Lilly, lav es?” (you okay?). Not only is the smoke cleaner but it is also much cooler so the user is less likley to have a coughing fit when trying to inhale the THC vapour.With a lot of the impurities removed the user recieves a much higher absorbtion of THC into their bloodstream than if they were to use the same amount in a normal pipe.At 3 a.m. Because THC is not soluable in water only the impurities in the smoke will get absorbed into the water ( nicoteen etc). Then violently shake the bottle for a second or two. The idea is then to remove the head then place a finger over the hole in the side of the bottle and a thumb of the other hand over the top of the bottle. Because the hole is made in the side of the bottle not the bottom there is a certain amount of water that remains in the bottle this is not a design flaw. Most smoking noobs fail to grasp how a waterfall should be used correctly so their knowledge on the subject ends here. The drop in air pressure inside the bottle caused by the water draining out pulls the flame into the head which in turn ignites the smoking material filling the inside of the bottle with thick 'cream cheese' type smoke which (after removing the head from the neck of the bottle) the user then sucks/inhales the smoke in one deep breath (unless they are a lightweight) XD. Then the user removed their finger from the hole letting the water flow out from the side of the bottle while holding a naked flame (lighter/match) above the head. ![]() A head (13mm socket set + gause with a thin band of " Sticky Tack" wrapped around the outside to produce an airtight fit) is then filled with smoking material and placed into the top of the bottle. With one finger covering the hole the bottle is filled with water. This is traditionaly made from a 2-5tr plastic bottle with a 5mm hole melted into the side about 10cm from the base. An improvised smoking device mainly used for smoking hash resin through. ![]()
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