Primus by Sweet Water Farms
Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where we remain fixated on the most explosive dank that Washington State has to offer. Today will mark the burgeoning review of Sweet Water Farms and I’ve heard nothing but great things. Being a self-proclaimed cheese maniac, any strain that has the confidence to label itself to have a ‘cheesy’ flavor is worth my scrutiny. True cheese essence has become exceptionally elusive on the recreational market; I can only surmise that this is due to modern demographics largely favoring bubbly and fruity over funky and foul. Primus is a cross of 303 Kush and Arcata Trainwreck. Boasting 26% total cannabinoids, this indica dominant hybrid is sure to leave an impression.
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I breach the jar to encounter a bright and bitter sour. Peppered herb crackles through a stabbing citrus zest. The nose-mangling introduction draws me along a corkscrew of sour leaf. The delve dispels me out onto a causeway of neutralizing hashy mist. A forest crisp refines the barky bite of rain-sodden mulch. Withered whispers of pine carry a flat mildewy sugar.
A moldy cheesecake emanating warm waves of challenging cream. The lancing foul of the vaporous dairy stews to emulate grape leaves and sun-aged oranges. The fermentation continues on to feed the brittle bright notes to the subdued chemmy sour. As the profile continues to mature in favored of the peppery muddled dank; it distances itself from cheese to become a crisp sprite of wet skunk.
In hopes of reeling the profile back towards parmesan patronage, I dismantle the bulbous buds. Brewing behind its frosted fibers was a smoky and enticing roar. A smoldering storm of mesquite barbeque drowned in the quashing cool of blue cheese. A rich rolling meaty essence smothered by an icy basin of creamy sour, milky freshness, and gritted herbal funk.
As the flowers continue to snap in my grasp, baked earth crumbles like the flesh of a muffin. The malleable confectionary carefully defines the perimeter of the bubbling bog. The swelling stalemate is disrupted by a slicing tang. The cheesy treasures are now hopelessly blended into hillocks of bright berry and an additional brooding grassy pungency. Bold, sweet, and smoky; Primus seems to endlessly bloom into willful plumes of enchanting funk.
Primus builds into wide-bodied arrowheads detailed with several pronounced barbs. The teetering crowns curl from their own weight, further beckoning down to the supplementary spires below. Clean obtuse angles rotate down the body of Primus like a scattered staircase. An unwieldy pyramid of ambitious architecture, the hammerfisted flowers draw its frost-fettered knots into hardened angular knuckles. Matting over the valleys between its bold protuberances are fiery bushels of nacho cheese color. Frayed and frazzled, the warm orange claws holdfast like a stove pilot light. Beacons of frozen fire weaving webs of vibrance and personality unto the blanketed tundras of resin below.
A jungle of fern and olive studded with speckles of weathered pine and crocodile. Heavier hues anchor the avalanching pale verdancy into mappable position. The stark shelves serve for visual reference as I navigate the rolling droves of shapeless frost. While reckless in its composition, Primus demonstrates considerable bulk. Forceful squeezes are met with a rubbery bend, a stretching crunch, and a physical shift. The flower moves like a tree that is willing to part its branches and bend into wild shapes before actually cracking or snapping. The bud sites are quite firm and determined, but the structure of Primus offers much maneuverability.
Leaf to flame, my tongue becomes entangled in the minty snares of Primus. A pinching and uplifting menthol chamomile clap drags my tongue to the top of a lightning rod. Only instead of lightning, my palate was offered to the sky to be pulverized by hammering bolts of musky earth. Rain drenched leaves recycle the minty briskness into a catalyst for the subdued bog below. The muddy funk ferments and builds into a gravy of pepper, basil, hash, and sour cream.
A pig called to roll in mud, I am drawn into an irresistible pursuit of the yet to be defined floor of this fragrant fermentation. The odor evolves to embody a dewey tang. Beads of tangerine shampoo that swell along the reeds of the cheesy bayou. Milky powder hydrated to a greasy hillock that slips across my tongue.
Rainwater and petrichor breaks through the basin of swollen stank. A break in the hungry humidity is revealed through heads of lettuce and sugar water. Diluted sucrose across a refreshing leafy crunch rounds out the bewildering musk of Primus. This strain wears many masks, but is consistently pungent and unique throughout each coil of its performance.
A neutralizing vibration establishes frequency in my mind. An invisible beam channeled through my ears that disturbs and distances all coherent thought. Leaning into the abrupt stasis, my emotions begin to erode into the distant air. A vacant-eyed prisoner complacent with his capture, light and clarity builds to bridge the mental canyon.
As if gravity was tangible, five square feet of it had just been joisted off of me. Still sapped of intent, I can now maneuver freely in this realm void of invisible encumbrance. A sense of liberty sends shudders down my spine and a gleeful cackle across my voice. The simultaneous gifts of physical and mental sensation cause me to feel as if I’m floating. My muscles stretch and joints retract as I become suspended in encapsulated moments of paradise. My body continues to decompress as I massaged into deeper states of emotional limbo.
The sensation of Primus is extremely meditative. An alien sense of profound calm echoes across the chasms of my vacant conscious. Time seems to creep by, I could trace the grains with my minds eye like flecks of falling dust. As if I’d slipped into another dimension, suites of familiar sensation seem so far from me now. My body feels physically drawn out to match the odd measurement of time as a sedating haze washes over my eyes. A tepid static clouds my vision, drawing me into a cabin of hibernating comforts.
I must say, this strain was certainly cheesier than I’d expected. Now, while closer to a zesty-chem skunk, I cannot refute the unmistakable kisses of cheese I’d received while traversing the landscape. While brighter and briefer than the gooey consuming funk I’d expected, I still consider this a victory for the i-502 market. Sweet Water Farms, I respect your craft and thank you for not misleading me on my conquest of chronic. As always, thanks for reading.
Primus score: 85/100
Aroma – 15
Physical – 17
Flavor – 18
Consistency – 19
Sensation – 16