XenoKnowsALL

Born with nothing but hunger and hurt, a 40-year-old soul is reborn in the body of a homeless Brooklyn stoner—and gifted with the divine ability to grow perfect cannabis in seven days. But instead of chasing hype, he builds a sacred legacy from the dirt: weed with intention, healing with fire, and culture with care.

Alongside Maya, a visionary artist, they transform their struggle into a global movement—From the Dirt—expanding across dispensaries, fashion, food, education, and spiritual growth.

From rooftops to rituals, from corner stores to cathedrals, this is a story of grief, glory, grind, and grace.

Because some things aren’t grown.
They’re remembered.

From the Dirt: Bloom Anyway

The laundromat echoed with noise now—real, productive noise.

Hammers. Saws. Ladders creaking. Paint cans cracking open.And in the middle of it all, Darius stood with dust on his hoodie and a dream in his hands.

They had torn out the old washing machines.Painted the walls a soft matte gray.Installed warm track lighting, custom display shelves, and a glass-topped counter that Maya designed herself—clean, modern, and unmistakably Brooklyn.

Above the main wall: a painted crown made of roots, with a bold phrase underneath:

FROM THE DIRTLocally Grown. Locally Owned.

In the back grow room, something new was coming to life.

City Soil—an indica-heavy strain bred from Afghani crossed with Grandaddy Purple. Deep purples in the leaves, thick buds like heavy city silence. It smelled like fresh earth and crushed berries with a diesel twist.

"This strain's for the ones who carry weight all day," Darius said as he trimmed a plant. "It don't knock you out. It holds you down."

"Because no matter how far we go, we still rooted in this city."

The city wasn't as easy as the block.

They'd filed all the paperwork—CAURD approval, inspection request, zoning forms—but bureaucracy moved like cold molasses.

One day it was the fire code.Next, the ventilation system.Then a "neighborhood business review board" popped up out of nowhere demanding a community meeting.

"They don't want us to win," Darius muttered, pacing the back office. "They don't ask corporate shops for this kinda check-in."

"They just wanna slow us down. Make sure we're not some corner hustle with a fancy logo."

They hired a legit HVAC guy from Queens, got permits rushed through Maya's cousin's law student friend, and started prepping for the walkthrough.

"When they step in here," she said, "they need to feel like they walked into tomorrow."

But not everyone wanted them to succeed.

Word got around fast—From the Dirt was going legal.

And that word eventually made its way to Tone.

He sat in a barber's chair, eyes scanning a bootleg flyer of the upcoming City Soil release.

"They settin' up shop right on my turf," he muttered.

"They ain't just sellin' weed anymore, Tone. They changin' the whole game."

He just smiled a slow, dangerous smile.

City Soil was in its final week before harvest—fat, sticky, aromatic.

Maya was working on packaging—eco-friendly jars with black-on-black labels, embossed lettering, and a small pull-tab that read:

"Planted with purpose. Rolled with pride."

Darius walked the shop alone one night, thinking about how far they'd come.

No more hiding behind corners.No more selling out of motel rooms.No more waiting for permission to exist.

But somewhere, deep in the back of his head, the street part of him still whispered:

"Success makes noise. And noise brings attention."

And just as he flipped the "Coming Soon" sign around in the front window…His phone buzzed.

A familiar voice rasped through the line.

"Be a shame if someone came and planted something ugly in all that dirt."

Chapter Sixteen – Blueprints & Backwatch