e audience was scattershot and lukewarm, standing solo, all ve feet from each other, all lming with their phones. ese weren't the starstruck, energetic vibes of goldrush excite- ment. is was a haul of those asking why, in the face of what's coming, are we still going through this terrible, unhip exercise? I almost felt bad for the whole lot. In a few years, they’ll be pitching moonshine and ditchweed. Adding to the awkwardness were sponsors, who’d felt it necessary to prop up booths for these 100 drones. Xylem? Really? Robotics, here? Another, Hefestus, the ‘House of Auto- mation’ had set up a machine in their corner. It begged the question, who, whether attendee or just-plain-stoner, making their way into the dispensary for event, purchase, or even the con- cert later, would give two shits about industrial manufacturing solutions aer a NuWu Sunrise and two rips at the bar? Ten feet away, on the other side of an empty pergola and picnic table, was an abandoned Cheech & Chong popup. ere was absolutely nothing under it, save for cardboard cutouts of the duo. Over in the empty VIP lot sat two party buses, roped o. Maybe the party would come later? It did not. By late morning on the conven- tion’s rst day, it was clear why, just weeks prior, they'd been oering BOGOs on entry tickets. e line to the badge counter had already dissipated. ere was noticeable wide- open booth space in both halls. You could almost see the MJBizDaily operators hunched over in the control room, wringing their hands raw… e annual pilgrimage of Davids and Goliaths was near-dead on delivery. e pulse was grimly nihilistic. Capping hemp THC into oblivion, and thrusting its operators into turmoil, was the “hemp ban,” a fresh existential wound. But the truth is, the empire was already starting to fracture. Chains have failed le and right. Celebrity brands are long forgotten. Phoenix and other states could repeal Rec… Michigan just hiked their taxes 25%. Everything seems empty, not unlike Vegas. Go corporate… and alienate your core clientele. e hottest convention items were any- thing but weed. Not just Shrüm. Never would you think of a product like Undoo nding a spotlight here, but it was quite the water cooler topic. And it already had a competitor – “High- Not” – both promising to get you un-high when you “have too much” (or a family member accidentally eats a “brownie”). A running
group from Chicago did laps. If you were lucky enough to see the Sorting Robotics robot dog pacing the oor, you were… lucky enough to see the Sorting Robotics robot dog pacing the oor. Like NuWu, it was hard not to cringe at the whole production. Rousing hope and what last joys can be had on the life ra before we all start eating each other. Not that the convention has been anything but a performance …. But this time was dierent. At least the patio (with DJ) would make up for it with some hot news making the rounds. It was always packed, elbow to elbow, and you could pass blunts and bongs between hucksters from around the world, from bud trimmers to executives. Exhausted, we limped down the long atrium that rst aernoon, to join in the communal toke once more … and were told it was no longer “allowed.” Nobody was there. e DJ set was a requiem. Little was le of the electricity that once powered this industry; only at aer-parties and behind closed doors did you hear rumors of deals, and nothing like the magic sparks of yesteryear. e expo vendors could barely hide their self-loathing. ey didn't know what else to do. “Everything I’m hearing from people in here,” one told me, clearly nervous. “is that everything is happening out there .” Racing Against the Inevitable Malaise W e continued down the Strip, every step more unsure than the previ- ous…. lopsided, renegade junkies, alternating in stretches of unbalanced stag- gering to the occasional full-on trot. Two of us wore jam-packed computer cases slung around the shoulders, while Huxley had stued to- gether all the tote bags we’d rounded up–high as kites–in our nal moments on the expo oor. e over-sized satchel, bursting with bags, would occasionally y like a drag chute in his arm as we picked up speed. is wasn’t your typical noological mush- room blend. Nothing menacing. But there were moments of numbness, weak legs. Slow processing. Everything looming, starting to pixelate. Cloudy thoughts. Mirror vision. e disorientation felt much like a long battle with REM… the groggy line between awake and asleep, just beats away from the phantasmic reprieve of giving in. Compounded by 72 hours of severe sleep deprivation and an empty stom-
34 MARCH/APRIL 2026
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