In the grand circus of Torrington’s commerce, a new act has rolled into Torrington over the weekend, parading under the banner of ‘Higher Collective’ – another retail outfit that’s sprouted up like a weed in the cracks of Connecticut’s legislative pavement. But hold your applause and quell that eager rustling of munchies wrappers, my friends, for this is no cause for celebration. It’s a ruse, a mere distraction from the glaring issue at hand: the proliferation of outlets is nothing but smoke and mirrors when the real problem is the stagnant pool of production.
Here we are, teetering on the brink of a green revolution, mouths agape, eyes wide with the promise of liberation from the shackles of prohibition. Yet, what do we find? Another retail joint, another middleman, another link in the chain that leeches off the blood, sweat, and tears of the true cultivators of this emerald crop. Where, I ask you, is the increase in production? Where are the fields, the sun-kissed plants swaying in the breeze, the bountiful harvests that should be flooding our streets with the sweet scent of freedom?
Instead, we’re handed another storefront, another neon sign flickering in the twilight, promising new highs from the same old stuff. This isn’t the promised land; it’s a mirage, a cruel joke played on those who dreamt of a world where the weed would be as free and abundant as the dandelions that dare to puncture the concrete of our urban jungles.
So, as the doors of another dispensary swing open, inviting the masses to partake in the same selection of strains, edibles, and tinctures, I stand here, not with a lighted joint, but a flaming torch of indignation. For every gram sold within those walls, there should be acres of cultivation, fields of dreams turning into reality. But no, we’re left clutching at straws, grasping at the illusion of progress while the true potential of this industry is left to wither in the bureaucratic wasteland of unfulfilled promises.
It’s high time we demand more than just retail therapy. It’s time to call for a cultivation revolution, where the scales are tipped in favor of the growers, the artisans, the botanists who are the beating heart of a green wave. Until then, ‘Higher Collective’ and its ilk are merely peddlers at the gates of a paradise that remains agonizingly out of reach.
Keep it weird,
