art
Artistic, musical, creative, and entertaining topics of art in the pot and stoner universe.
The Descent and the Covenant
I was born into shadow, in the house of narcissism and alcohol. The air itself was thick with distortion — love twisted into control, tenderness fused with terror. My map was shattered before I could walk, and so I wandered blind into the red glow of the streets. I mistook danger for destiny. I called hunger devotion. I called harm love.
By THE HONED CRONE3 months ago in Potent
THE SPELLBREAKER’S HYMN: THE CHILD, THE MAIDEN, THE CRONE
Hear me, O Heavens, and listen, O Earth: Before the tongues of mortals could name her, Inanna entered the child’s bones. She moved in silence, in shadow, in the spaces between breath and thought. The little one, trembling yet vigilant, measured each step, each glance, each shadow. Inanna was with her, weaving strength into her marrow, calming the storm before it broke, teaching the child the language of survival. She sang through the corridors of the unseen, her voice threading courage into the girl’s fragile heart, a litany of fire and blood, unbroken.
By THE HONED CRONE3 months ago in Potent
The Heart of Unity
The Heart of Unity How a Strong Community Sparked Lasting Change Through Togetherness and Hope In the small town of Elmridge, nestled between rolling hills and quiet streams, the people always greeted each other by name. The town wasn’t rich in money or industry, but it was rich in something far rarer: connection. Over the years, this tight-knit community had faced its share of challenges—from economic downturns to natural disasters—but it was how the people of Elmridge responded that made their story remarkable. Five years ago, a powerful storm swept through the region, leaving behind a trail of destruction. Homes were damaged, the community center collapsed, and the town’s only school was partially flooded. For a town of just under 2,000 people, this could have meant disaster. But for Elmridge, it marked the beginning of something extraordinary. Within 24 hours, neighbors began checking on one another. Volunteers of all ages gathered at the old church hall—one of the few buildings left untouched—to plan a response. Emma Rivera, a retired teacher, helped organize childcare for working parents. Malik Johnson, a local mechanic, offered his truck and tools to clear debris. Teenagers showed up with gloves and wheelbarrows, ready to work. No one waited for outside help. They became the help. What started as emergency aid turned into a larger movement. With the school damaged, the community set up a temporary learning center in the town library. Retired educators teamed up with high school students to keep lessons going. When word got out, nearby towns donated books, furniture, and even internet routers. The school year finished on time—and with a deeper sense of pride than ever before. Elmridge’s resilience caught the attention of a regional nonprofit that offered a grant for community revitalization projects. Instead of using the money to rebuild what was lost, the townspeople held a town hall and asked a simple question: What kind of future do we want to build? The answers poured in. One group wanted to create a community garden to reduce food insecurity and teach kids about sustainable living. Another dreamed of turning the collapsed community center into a solar-powered hub with a library, computer lab, and flexible event space. A few elders suggested mentorship programs to connect younger generations with the town’s history and values. The result was a year-long collaboration involving almost every resident in Elmridge. Plumbers taught apprentices from the local high school how to install water systems. Artists painted murals reflecting the town’s history and hopes. Local farmers donated seeds for the garden. People gave their time, skills, and hearts. The community garden bloomed first. Rows of tomatoes, kale, herbs, and sunflowers brought beauty and nourishment to the town square. Families harvested together, and children proudly carried baskets home. The garden became more than just a source of food—it became a symbol of healing and hope. Next came the new community center, designed by local architect Lea Chow, who returned to Elmridge after years in the city. She made sure it was energy-efficient, welcoming, and accessible to all. On opening day, hundreds gathered under fluttering ribbons and homemade banners. The mayor didn’t give a speech alone—he invited a child, a teacher, a senior, and a new resident to speak too. Each one shared what the town had come to mean to them. The change wasn’t just physical. People started sharing more of their lives. Elders held weekly storytelling circles. Young adults launched a skills exchange program. Elmridge became known in the region not just as the town that bounced back—but as the town that lifted each other up. Today, five years after the storm, Elmridge stands stronger than ever. Its streets are still simple, and its houses modest, but the spirit of the town pulses brightly. Tourists occasionally visit to learn about the community model. Leaders from other regions reach out to ask: How did you do it? The people of Elmridge always say the same thing: “We listened to each other. We showed up. We believed in what we could do—together.” In a world often divided by difference and overwhelmed by challenges, Elmridge reminds us that the heart of unity is not in grand gestures, but in everyday acts of care, shared vision, and the courage to build something better side by side.
By Muhammad Saad 6 months ago in Potent
Power in Unity: The Heart of a Thriving Community
"The Circle in the Square" The sun peeked over the hills of Oakridge just as the townspeople began gathering in the old town square. It was the heart of their community—lined with red-brick shops, creaky wooden benches, and a weathered gazebo that had seen everything from weddings to protests. Today, it would witness something else: the beginning of a new chapter. For years, Oakridge had been slowly fading. The factory that once employed half the town had closed. Young people were moving away. The streets felt quieter, businesses shuttered one after another. But something had changed in recent months. Not all at once, and not loudly—but unmistakably. It started with Rosa Alvarez, a retired teacher who turned her front yard into a vegetable garden and offered free produce to neighbors. “Take what you need,” her handmade sign read. She wasn’t trying to start a movement—she just couldn’t stand seeing anyone go hungry. Then Malik, a high school student, began filming short videos about Oakridge's past and posting them online. People started sharing their stories. History returned to life. Next came Rev. Thomas and Mrs. Shah, who organized weekly cleanup walks. “If we want people to love Oakridge,” Mrs. Shah said, sweeping a sidewalk, “we have to show we love it first.” Slowly, as if the town itself were waking from a long sleep, things began to change. Someone painted murals over the graffiti. Kids volunteered to read to seniors. A retired carpenter built new benches for the square. And in every conversation—at the diner, the barbershop, the school office—one word kept coming up: together. So today, when the town council called for a “Unity Circle,” nearly everyone showed up. At the center of the square stood a young tree, newly planted by local volunteers. Around it, townspeople formed a wide circle—shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Children stood beside elders. Longtime residents stood next to newcomers. You could feel the warmth—not just from the July sun, but from something deeper. A quiet hope, pulsing like a heartbeat. Mayor Eliza Grant stepped into the middle. She had lived in Oakridge her whole life and had seen its best and worst. Her voice was steady, but her eyes shone. “We used to think the future would come to us,” she said. “Jobs. Technology. Opportunities. We waited. But it didn’t come. And slowly, we stopped believing it ever would. Until you all reminded us: we are the future.” She paused as a breeze rustled the leaves of the tree. “This town doesn’t need saving from the outside. It needs belief from within. And that’s what I see in all of you. A collective strength. A shared vision. Local leaders—not politicians, but neighbors—who aren’t afraid to act with heart.” A ripple of nods moved through the circle. “We’re not going to fix everything overnight,” she continued. “But today, we plant this tree not just for shade, but as a living reminder: growth happens when we stand together.” She motioned to a group of children, who stepped forward with watering cans and gently soaked the tree’s roots. Applause rose—not thunderous, but steady and sincere. That evening, as twilight bathed the town square in amber light, people lingered. They shared food, music, laughter. They made plans: a community tool shed, a mentorship program, a local newsletter. Not ideas from a single leader, but from many voices weaving together a future. By the time the stars blinked into view, the Unity Circle had dissolved—but the connections remained. People who hadn’t spoken in years had exchanged phone numbers. Strangers had become collaborators. And the tree in the center stood firm, its young branches reaching outward—like the people who had gathered around it, rooted in hope and stretching toward what’s next. In the days and months to come, challenges would return. There would be disagreements, setbacks, and moments of doubt. But something fundamental had shifted. The people of Oakridge had discovered their strength—not in isolation, but in unity. Not in waiting, but in acting. Their resilience was no longer a quiet wish. It was a visible force, growing stronger with every step taken together. And in that small town, in that simple circle, a thriving community was born—not out of perfection, but out of purpose.
By Muhammad Saad 6 months ago in Potent
The Silence Between My Mother’s Words. AI-Generated.
The Silence Between My Mother’s Words My mother speaks in English like she’s walking on unfamiliar ground. Her words are careful, placed deliberately, like stones in a stream. In between them, there are silences—pregnant, loaded, shaped like the things she wants to say but doesn’t have the vocabulary for.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Potent
The Best Food
The smell hit Maya the moment she opened the front door—a blend of garlic, onions, and something sweet, something warm. She dropped her backpack, kicked off her shoes, and followed her nose into the kitchen. There, as always, stood Grandma, apron tied neatly, wooden spoon in hand, her silver hair pulled into a tidy bun. A large pot simmered on the stove, and the kitchen table was a beautiful mess—dough dusted in flour, half-chopped vegetables, and a bowl of something golden and sticky. "You're just in time," Grandma said without turning. "Stir the pot for me, will you?" Maya grinned and took over the spoon. "What are we making?" "Something special. An old recipe from my mother’s mother. We used to make it during the monsoon season back home." Maya raised an eyebrow. Grandma had lived a lifetime before coming to this little house in the suburbs. Sometimes, she told stories about mango trees, rainstorms, and spice markets. But Maya had never tasted the food from those stories. Not really. "I thought we were making stew." "Stew, yes," Grandma said. "But not just any stew. This—" she tapped a handwritten note taped to the wall "—is tarkari. It's got lentils, yams, spices… and a little memory." Maya kept stirring, the scent growing richer. "What do you mean, memory?" Grandma chuckled. "Every good dish is part memory. We cook not just with our hands, but with what we remember. Who we cooked with, how it made us feel. Sometimes, you taste something and it brings back a whole afternoon from years ago." Maya nodded slowly. She thought of the cafeteria’s pizza, the stale kind, and how it reminded her of rainy lunch periods. Not quite the same, but maybe it counted. They worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the bubbling pot and the occasional thump of a knife on the cutting board. Maya loved these afternoons with Grandma—just the two of them, no rush, no schoolwork. "What makes this the best food?" Maya asked, carefully dropping a pinch of cumin into the pot. Grandma paused. "It’s not just the taste. It’s the story. My mother made this when our house flooded, and we had only a few ingredients left. It fed six people for three days. She made it again when your uncle was born, and again when I left for college. Each time, it reminded us that we were still a family, no matter what changed." Maya looked into the pot. It didn’t look like much. But it smelled like home. "Want to know the secret?" Grandma asked. Maya nodded eagerly. "It's not just the spices. It's stirring slowly, thinking of who you love. Food listens. It carries feeling. So if you're angry when you cook, people taste it. But if you're kind…" She smiled, tapping Maya's nose with flour. "…they’ll never forget it." Maya kept stirring, slower this time, imagining Grandma as a girl, barefoot in a kitchen across the ocean. She pictured her great-grandmother, strong and warm, stirring the same stew. When the dish was finally done, they sat at the table with bowls in their hands. The stew was thick, fragrant, and golden with turmeric. Maya took a bite—and closed her eyes. It was unlike anything she'd ever tasted. Spicy but gentle. Sweet but earthy. It made her feel something she couldn’t quite explain—like she belonged to a story bigger than herself. “This,” she said, “is the best food I’ve ever had.” Grandma smiled. “Now you know. The best food isn’t found in restaurants or cookbooks. It’s made with memory, love, and someone to share it with.”
By Muhammad Saad 6 months ago in Potent
Exploring the High Life: How Cannabis Culture is Shaping Our World
Exploring the High Life: How Cannabis Culture is Shaping Our World Cannabis has come a long way from being an underground movement whispered about in smoky basements. Today, it’s a thriving, mainstream culture that influences everything from wellness routines to pop culture, home décor, media, and even the way we socialize.
By samoresh de9 months ago in Potent
