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 email came through at 9:16 AM sharp:

SUBJECT: CAURD FINAL APPROVAL – STATUS: ACTIVE"Your dispensary license has been approved and activated. You are now legally permitted to operate as a recreational cannabis retailer in the state of New York."

He just stared at the screen like he was staring down a version of himself from ten years ago—dead broke, locked up, watching the system chew his life to pieces.

🎉 Grand Opening – City Soil Launch Day

They didn't do balloons.Didn't hire dancers.Didn't turn the block into a carnival.

They made it feel like a coronation.

The line started forming before noon. People from all over Brooklyn—Flatbush, Crown Heights, Bed-Stuy—stood shoulder to shoulder outside the storefront, waiting for a taste of the new era.

"Yo, this that Dirt spot?""I heard they went legal—no more alley pickups.""That City Soil got a body high and soul therapy, I'm tellin' you."

Maya wore a black work jacket with the From the Dirt crown patch stitched on the back. Darius wore the same, but his had a simple quote stitched on the sleeve:

"What they buried, I turned into bloom."

The first customer, a barbershop owner named Uncle Len, stepped inside and pointed at the shelf.

"Lemme get two jars of City Soil and a hoodie. One for me. One for my son. Y'all makin' history."

Darius handed him the product himself.

The line didn't slow until sunset.

Journalists came by. Streetwear blogs covered it. Two local news stations did drive-by segments. One called it:

"A quiet revolution in Brooklyn cannabis culture."

Maya cried in the back room when the local councilwoman posted them on IG with the caption:

"Young, Black, legal, and building an empire. This is the blueprint."

🛡️ The Watchers – Security Moves In

After the last customer left, Darius locked the door, then turned to Maya.

"We need eyes on this place. 24/7. Now."

Darius called in a favor from an old friend—Cam, a former Marine turned private security boss in East New York. Cam ran a small squad of local, certified, no-nonsense security professionals—vets, ex-boxers, street-savvy dudes who didn't wear suits but could clear a room with just a look.

"Heard you making legal history, young blood," he said, shaking Darius's hand. "Let's make sure you keep it."

By midnight, From the Dirt had:

Two armed guards rotating 12-hour shifts

An upgraded alarm system wired into both the grow room and storefront

Motion sensors by the rear alley door

Security cams tied into a real-time app feed Darius could access on his phone

"We secure now," Cam said. "Ain't nobody sneaking in or out without us knowing."

"Appreciate you," Darius said. "Just don't treat this like a job. This ain't just product. This is our legacy."

Darius stood outside the shop around 3 a.m., hoodie up, joint lit. One of Cam's men leaned against the wall nearby, scanning the block with eagle eyes.

Maya joined him, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

"We really did it," she whispered, staring at the glowing City Soil sign in the window.

"Yeah," Darius said. "But it's only the first chapter."

"The war ain't over. Tone's quiet. Too quiet."

"Now we plant deeper.We grow louder.And we protect everything."

Back inside, a fresh batch of City Soil cured under perfect light.

Chapter Eighteen – Concrete Roots