The Nature of War

War is tough, but simple. I have signed up for one war — The War On Terror. Before I knew it, they were arming me with fully automatic weapons, training me to look for and be prepared for terrorists or terrorists incidents, like bombings or shootings. I’m not talking about Iraq or Afghanistan. I’m talking about right here in Naval Station Norfolk in Norfolk, Virginia.

Although I do have severe PTSD from the training and some of the things that happened, it has equipped me to fight another war — The War on Drugs. Now, I didn’t sign up for this one. This one found me. I have been a cannabis patient since I was 14 years old. I was treating depression from the loss of a loved one.

There were no doctors or adults to consult.

I just knew I felt like shit, and my friends that I skated with — bear in mind that we trusted each other with our bodily safety — said that cannabis would make me feel better.

It did.

Ever since then, I have been associated with lots of different people.

War is simple. I only want to know two things:

  1. Are you invested in this?
  2. Are you trustworthy?

Black, white, gay, straight, Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Hindu…it doesn’t matter. I just want to know if you are in this fight, and if I can trust you to get my back, and if you trust me to get yours.

That’s how it works on the streets, too.

Leadership is important in any war. The leader is meant to inspire. They are supposed to be the bravest. The strongest. The ones with hope when everyone else has lost it.

Here are my predictions for this Texas legislative session.

  1. HB81 will pass. They want to decriminalize, but not make legal, small amounts of flower.
  2. SB269 will not pass. The Texans at the top seem to think that if you want medical or recreational marijuana, then you should move. If it does pass, it will super expensive to get a license and they legislate it into oblivion.

Jessica Pallet said it well, “Texas is about appearances. Do we APPEAR to care about our veterans? Do we APPEAR to uphold Biblical values? Do we APPEAR to care about our sick? They don’t really care. They only want to know if it appears to other states and the rest of the world, that they care.”

This made so much sense. It brought clarity to some tension that I have always sensed and hated about this culture. It full of privileged people that only care about appearances, not just in a shallow, wardrobe sense, but they go through the motions, especially the motions of “church” or whatever the hell their calling it nowadays.

Well, I’m going through some motions. I’m moving to Colorado to join the fight at Ground Zero. Many things I love are going to be in the rear-view mirror, but I won’t be looking back, because I don’t give a damn about appearances, and anyone that knows me, can testify that it’s true. Even if they don’t know it’s the reason I drive some of them absolutely crazy.

Also, I want to remind everyone that I did not call it a “War.”

I am just responding appropriately.

Wagen, over and out.



Independent Gangsta

You may or may not have heard about “Original Gangstas,” or “OGs.” These guys are the real deal. The leader. The shot caller. They are usually the oldest, bravest, and craziest.

Now, an Independent Gangsta (IG) is a peaceful gangsta. A solo rider half the time, and with backup the other half. Joining a gang never interested me. The initiation alone was enough for me to say, “No, thanks.” Generally, I didn’t stay close friends with someone that beat me up or made me hurt an innocent person.

I will admit, that there is probably something about gang life that I do not understand. I see the allure, especially if I had grown up in the impoverished inner city with little parental oversight. For many young men and women, joining a gang is a choice of survival. Survival from bullies, other gangs, and even the police.

As a middle-class white boy who was very capable with a knife at an early age, I didn’t have much to worry about. I often went with other independent gangstas — of all shapes, sizes, genders, colors, and creeds. We were definitely a crew, but we didn’t feel the need to initiate. I guess you could say that we were abunch of Liberty-Lovers from Liberty County, Texas. I believed in sovereignty of the individual at an early age, I just didn’t know how to adequately express it.

Instead of solving conflicts with violence, we would having smoking competitions. We would go hit for hit, like going shot for shot, off a water bong, and then sometimes we would top that off with a game of basketball. By the time we did the hits, we forgot what we were fighting about, and just got excited about a basketball game.

This was how we lived. Sure, there were fights. When you put abunch of teenagers together, it’s bound to happen, but we kept it to a minimum. And some situations that were tense, were solved with cannabis.


Violence was halted with cannabis.

Wagen (IG), over and out.



War. What Is It Good For?

The time for graduating had come and gone. I was shipped out a short 3 weeks later.

The moment of swear-in was of great significance and impact. I don’t remember much, but I do remember these lines:

“I, Kevin Charles Wagenseller, do solemnly swear to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States of America from all threats, foreign and domestic.”

This is an oath I was serious about, and I haven’t stopped simply because I have been discharged. The Constitution and upholding and defending it from all threats…foreign AND domestic…this is something that remains close to my heart, and consumes my soul.

You see, the War on Terror was of great concern to me. If there was anything I could do to stop the terrorists from destroying more lives, then I was going to do it. I was a 15-year-old sophomore in high school when 9/11 happened, and it wasn’t until I was 22 and out of the Navy that I found out that the real terrorists were sitting in the “Executive Mansion,” as it was once called.

So, I find out the first war I train and fight in is a sham and use of power demonstrated by the ruling elite to gain banking, gold, and oil interests in the Middle East. It was never about people’s safety.

Now, I find myself entangled in a second war. The War on Drugs. The truth, I have been in this war for many years, but I did not see it as a war until the last two or three years, the seriousness of it escalating with each passing year.

There is a huge burden on my shoulders.

It’s like I can feel the pain of all the dying soldiers suffering from PTSD, chronic pain, or other serious disorders.

I feel for all the cops that are “just doing their jobs,” some in ignorance, and some in the “know.” Either way, they are in a tough spot, and they shouldn’t have to be.

Pain consumes me watching my minority friends get hauled off to jail over and over again for petty, victim-less crimes. Sure, I am thankful that I am ________ enough not to have much difficulty with law enforcement, but I couldn’t imagine feeling so oppressed that I would be driven to join a gang just for protection from racist and abusive law enforcement. This is a problem, and it needs to be addressed.

On top of it all, I am losing my wife, dogs, and home to this war, and I feel powerless to stop it. After 30 years, a car accident, two wars, and a troubled marriage later, I find myself having to accept that sometimes we are dealt bad hands, and we just have to play them.

I take hope that eventually this turn will pass, the deck will be shuffled, and I get another chance.

Life can be like that, if we let it.

Wagen, over and out.

Colorado Trip: New Year’s 2017

Luckily, I was able to convince the wife to let me go alone to Colorado on a real trip for New Year’s. I was able to find a room to rent for the long weekend, and I had many delightful items on the agenda.

The trip was uneventful. It wasn’t like a saw a UFO or anything cool like that…

Obviously, the goal was to get my hands on some quality, legal wax. While perusing at a local dispensary, I found some wax extracted by CO2 rather than butane or a rosin press. I had to have it. The taste is excellent, and the use of the wax is interesting. You just squeeze it out. No dab tool required.

You got to try it!

The next morning I get a phone call:

“KC.” The mortgage guy said.


“You don’t make enough money to keep the house by yourself. Neither you or your wife do.”

I was devastated. I wanted to keep the house for many reasons, but one of them is that the address starts with 7107. If read right to left, numerically, says “Holy Oil.”

No joke. Just try it.

But that’s a silly reason to stay shackled to such a big responsibility, so I can let it go.

About that time, my host showed me some paperwork. Texas wants $2 million dollars for a license to sell CBD oil.

A license.

It’s never going to be about helping the sick for them. They are going to crush the industry before it gets started and then blame the industry for failing.

Texas IS big oil.

Texas IS the private prison system.

Texas doesn’t want to change. Even if they pass a law, the medicine will never be affordable, and the use of cannabis will never be accepted by family and doctors. Texas has too much riding on cannabis’ failure to let it succeed.

Get out while you still can.

Due to all of this information, New Year’s Eve morning, I went looking for apartments in Colorado Springs. I was able to get a tour of one of the two units left at one of the only apartment complexes in town that had any availabilities. Apparently, everyone wants to move to Colorado. I found a 3 bedroom, 2 bath for an affordable rate. It wasn’t impressive, but it had all the essentials, and it was an apartment in Colorado. I signed the papers and paid them.

The apartment is mine. I’m doing it. I’m moving to Colorado!

This decision is not easy. In addition to most of my family disowning me, my wife has decided not to follow me to a safe place. It makes me sad, but there isn’t really anything I can do about it. She has to make her own decisions and live with the consequences, as do I.

I am excited about the move. This was the best trip, yet, and I think it’s neat I finally found a town to land in. For those that are shocked by this, don’t be. I have been talking about moving to Colorado for the past six months. Nobody listened. Nobody. Even some of my friends needed to be reminded. I guess everyone thought I was kidding or just crazy.

Fuck all that noise.

I hope everyone has a safe and happy new year. You may not be moving to Colorado, but stay strong. Maybe your day will come soon.

Soon, I will be writing to you from the free zone. Hopefully I remain an encouragement to those stuck behind enemy lines.

Wagen, over and out.



Being 16

Turning 16 was awesome. In the week surrounding my birthday, I got a cell phone, an ’89 S-10, a driver’s license, and a job at AMC Theaters in Humble, Texas. I was “all the way up” and “nothing [could] stop me.”

It was also the year I tried alcohol. I liked it almost as much as I liked cannabis, I just hated the hangovers. There is no hangover with cannabis. If there is, it’s more tolerable than alcohol.

I had been using cannabis since I was 14. I supported my medical needs by mowing lawns. I also had enough to buy some video games, musical equipment, and skateboards…all of them were outlets growing up.

At 16, I ramped up my levels. Instead of buying a quarter or half-ounce at a time, I graduated to one to two ounces per transaction. I started to gain a reputation, especially among my peers.

One associate came to me and said, “Somebody came to me the other day and asked if I knew who had weed. I told them that you always had good quality weed, even when everyone else was dry.” Part of this was because I had local connections in Dayton, but if Dayton was dry, I had connections in Houston. Most of my peers didn’t.

It makes good sense.

When I would go into Houston, I used it as an opportunity to turn my Ebonics (gangsta slang of the impoverished areas) and Spanish up full blast. I knew some interesting people. Some flexed up, but I never really had any problems. Years later, I found out that they didn’t interact with many brave, middle-class white people, so I could get places that my white-racist, under-achieving, middle-class white people couldn’t. This was a HUGE advantage in the black market.

I didn’t “deal” in the traditional sense. No. Due to some critical thinking, I had other ideas. What I would do is go to my dealer and ask for low prices. I would pick up 2 ounces of top-shelf…I mean stuff that makes Colorado and California top-shelf look like dirt…for $65 dollars. Then, I would go to parties and get everyone high and discreetly share my connect with people I trusted.

I remember a few parties where I rolled some fat joints, and the joint would just take off through the crowd, one or two hits were enough to get most people “blowed” or really high. We called it “2-hitter-quitter” instead of “top-shelf.” The latter likely adopted from the alcohol industry.

I would have to pass 20, 30, 40 people and walk up to who was holding the joint and say, “Hey. Could you please hand the joint to me.” I didn’t care how old they were. I could care less if they thought they were tough because they played high school sports. Some would spark an attitude with me. I’d say something like, “That’s my weed your smoking. Hand it over so I can hit it a few times.” They would, and I would often give it back.

I’m not a monster.

Taking people’s cannabis virginity and lighting up a whole party was called, “killin it.” I would even say this to adults.

“What have you been doing today?” They’d ask.

“Killin it. What about you?” I’d respond.

I think some knew, but most did not.

Fun times.

“Donde esta la mota?” — Spanish

“Where da weed/kill/bud at?” — Ebonics

Wagen, over and out.


“Obsessed” with Weed #OpenYourEyes #TheyLive #YouDontFuckingKnowMe

I have received several critiques over the last year or two. One that particularly troubles me is that I am “obsessed” with weed, or that I am allowing it to destroy my life.

Now, I can understand how one could draw that conclusion just by taking a casual glance at my life. However, I am the only one that has attended all my doctor’s appointments, considered the different medical and therapeutic treatments, lived with the torture, and made an informed decision.

Guess what?

I have been doing this since I was little. I ask everybody lots of questions, especially doctors…especially when I have like 10 disorders.

Guess what?

I also read alot of books, on many topics — medical, historical, war strategies, languages, electronics, finances, religion, philosophy, and the list goes on. I am not saying I know everything, but I did my homework, and continue to do so, so don’t think you know more or better than me about my life. It’s not complicated. I wouldn’t pretend to know more about your life.

I just expect the same courtesy in return.

Living with all of these disorders is tough. Even as I write this, I wonder if it is “out-of-line” or “wildly appropriate.” Either way, I wrote it, and you can fucking deal with it.

Wagen, over and out.