Mystery 2 by Archive Seeds

Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where the dankest is roasted. Today, we will be unpacking our second ‘mystery strain’ from Archive Seeds. After the last one, the quality of the brand is clear. I can only muse at how this next strain will be bursting with character. Without much information to go on, I have to approach this review with a very open mind. Indica? Sativa? These are prehistoric tools compared to where we’re going. Punch your ticket and let’s get lifted.

I am greeted by a procession of brittle haze. Tangy tendrils crane outward like the candied branches of an ancient maple. Rippling waves of caramelized thorns present sharp valleys containing the sweetest of nectars. Mild whims of citrus glaze across brisk dewy fields and a syrupy sour define these stacking mesas of sweet. Carved into the crumbly cliffs are glyphs of fruit punch with a blackened pepper bite. A sizzling afterthought of rum chases the playful sprites away back into the recesses of the forested haze. A pseudo-step-child of Ghost Train Haze and Zkittlez, this strain pummels you with signature charms. Parades of bedazzlement come to a crawl as I find myself contained by a beefy chestnut barrier.

Tearing at the crystalline walls of this strain, it discards the wings of frothing fruit to wield honed gassy daggers. Raw, tacky, and blistering; the diesel fuel ruptures my nose. Sickening swirls that have me begging for mercy, but also wincing while seeking more of this sensory punishment. Every puncture from the vivacious fangs has me clamoring for air, but addicted to each additional graze with death. With time, I surmount the stomach to resist the bulldozing intensity of this profile. Having trained myself to resist the scathing brutality, I am able to uncover the subtler presence of a rubbery tang.

Leaf to flame, sloshing waters of diluted Hi-C part in the wake of an herbal jet. A torpedo of steamed tea leaves distracts me with a spirited performance. Having the dwindling feeling that this beguilement couldn’t be the full presentation, I awaited the thinly veiled threat. Armaments stealthily dropped from the sky, a flurry of blood orange zest needles into my tongue. A barrage that stirs up underlying elements of a skunked herbaceous floor. Every hit I take is delivered like a needle into a sewing cushion. A self-propelled voodoo doll, tormented by tang and refreshing flames. A champagne sour spitting over a raging brush fire, a tropical potpourri coughing out over charred leaf. Incensed plumes of chestnut ground and contrast the high octave assault with muddy neigh-cocoa elements.

Strips of rubbery gas are then laid atop the fire. Enchanting and repulsive, the slick oily texture to the burnt diesel carves new pores into your tongue. Some strains really linger after each hit, but this one seems to practically take up residence. A dastardly system of compounding interest that only seems to serve in the interest of reserving the most challenging elements. Once I forfeit myself to the undeniable strength, I feel as though I’d passed some sort of test. Only through surviving a trial by fire am I rewarded with creamy slurps of strawberry spined by raspberry sour. A reward for the journey; a deserving trophy for those with the endurance to braze the blistering embrace.

Ethereal earmuffs nuzzle my ears, emphasizing the whistling silence within my skull. A warmth is channeled through my cavernous cranium. Echoes crackle from the invisible bolts of candied lightning. Tendrils reach out like arcs in a glass plasma ball. I am tickled, softened…disarmed. Coaxed into a state of helplessness towards whatever the throes of this strain may hold. Shocks of pleasure quiver the fibers of my mind, an instrument being strung birthing new thought; from whom, I am not sure. I feel as though I’ve become a vessel for a ferry of muses, surfing through planes of consciousness. Oh, how lucky am I, that they have disembarked on my shores. Prolonged exposure to the perceived ‘divinity’ feels gradually burn out the tethers and nodes that make the connection possible. After time, the continuity of this divine providence seems to glitch and fade. You can renew the connection by guzzling down more of the feisty fruit grog, however, each subsequent dive feels drowsy and drunk. A poet driven mad, spouting nonsense unto unwilling ears.

Dampening the spirited rants birthed by this strain is a sedative steam that seems to come from these ‘severed connections.’ It seems as though these deities have grown tired of conversation and find it more fitting to perfume me asleep. The intoxicating elements of flavor forever-compounding feels as if I’m physically and spiritually being blocked up with cement. A pharaoh being preserved for a future time when it will be fitting to seek council of a man driven so hopelessly insane. I am being dramatic, but the near-prophetic channels of creativity and inspiration are worth hearkening. You feel as if you are borrowing power from some alien source, perhaps the same that drove those who built the pyramids. I have the suspicion that this is exactly the type of cannabis that was enjoyed by the ancient god-kings of Egypt. A couple days of this, you might be erecting monuments in your front lawn.

Befuddling complexity and a unique coupling of elements. Shifting seamlessly from a handshake to a stab in the back, and back again. ‘Having identity’ doesn’t begin to describe this strain. While the high was attuned to only a couple directions, the complexity within the flavor alone is enough to satisfy any accomplished cannasseur. Dazzling and bizarre, I’ll be happy to enjoy this strain again any time. Consistency is key and that seems to be a running theme within the production lines of Archive Seeds. Until next time.

Stay high and stay blessed,

Kushman Bonglegs

Mystery 2 total score: 94/100

Aroma – 20

Physical – 19

Flavor – 18

Consistency – 19

Sensation – 18

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