I
Smoke fills and struggles about in the eternal black holes of my reasoning but fails to get sucked into the space beyond the void. Where reason and desire make love in a harmony of fulfillment and questions need not be asked and motives need not be jaded by rationalizations.
It settles and drifts, seducing my wants, convincing them of their need for it, but ultimately failing to do so. For reasons, which my own mind cannot contend or put a finger on.
The mores of society? The ethical code? Those cannot be for not only does my mind fail to identify the reasons but it also fails to give a damn about those whose lives it can't control, nor who are in a position to control my mind.
A natural disdain perhaps? An allergy maybe? Then why do my digits mimic the source of that smoke, acting it out with means which cause no harm to man but to paper? And why then would my senses have a certain affinity for that smell, that perfume? Not turning the cheek when an opportunity for a whiff would pass by,
A trade of dependence seems most likely. Fear to sacrifice the sense of control which I pride myself for having. That no man may shape my destiny but me and my God. But why do I then still withdraw from ever giving it a chance? I do not fear it in so far as another state of matter succeeds in penetrating that black hole and giving me joy and taking me to new heights. Why then must this subconscious filter, this super-ego of mine, suddenly sound all alarms, present a show of arms, at the mere sight of vapor?
As is evident, it is not a lackadaisical sense or an air of lethargy that conceals the solution to me, but simply, a lack of knowledge or ability to correctly identify and rationalize.
II
Vapors make love to my olfactory nerves. They entice them, seduce them, serenade them into getting the green light from my brain. Ah, but where my senses fail, my sense is strong, and instead of taking an active part in proceedings, it directs me to question do I stay or do I dare while in passive resistance
For as long as I can remember, I've had the opportunity to indulge myself, quite heavily, into cigarettes, weed, hash, dendrite, the works. Most of my friends smoke regularly, a majority of the people I'm surrounded by these days are into it too and yet for some reason I abstain from even trying these out. Personally, I feel one should garner as many different experiences as possible (except of course murdering someone, though that depends more on the person needing to be killed...) and yet I don't even entertain the notion of taking a puff. Most of the time, I know why I'm doing something, but when it comes to the decision of not giving in, I have no idea why I refrain.
The gas fades away with a strong gust of wind. But just as my mind comes to a still from having to not choose, fresh herbs join the mix. The smell is more vibrant than ever. And a certain section of my desire wants to know what it feels like to climb the proverbial stairway to heaven. But my mind still can't make itself up...
It's not for a lethargic lack of trying. I've questioned several times why I abstain. Each time, I systematically eliminate every possibility, get back to square one in little time, start over and am caught in this cycle of question & analysis, yielding no ultimate result. I have no problem guzzing down beer (or any drink for that matter), I don't care much for my health (certainly not enough to try something new once), cigarette smoke/smell doesn't annoy me and so many times I pretend I'm smoking a pen or pencil and there's something about the act of smoking that I find somewhat attractive, and yet, I don't smoke. And there are times that I've really, really wanted to give in, for just one puff. But I didn't. And I don't think I ever will.
My mind is indecisive as ever. With every new flick of the flame, the choice to activate seems tougher to make
I've singled out fear of addiction as the main problem, though why it should be so isn't clear. I obviously have no problem chugging bottles of beer whenever I get the chance. I'm obviously not an alcoholic but I do drink whenever I'm offered and I drink as little as I do more due to lack of money than due to abstinence. So, fear of addiction is a half-baked theory, though at present the one that tastes the most like cake. (Ok fine, that was a terrible metaphor) Until realization dawns, or enlightenment happens, I'm thus consigned to muse this quirk about myself (it's funny how not having a reason for not smoking is now a quirk) for some time to come. Ah well, I guess I'll passive-smoke and pseudo-dope the while away.
Ok enough beating about the bush. Choose. Now! Cigarette or marijuana? Or both? Nothing's not an option.
III
I've made my decision.
I want Bud.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Hey Jude.
Hey Jude,
You are indeed making it bad. At first, I thought we would get along, I really did. So when I saw my name in lights, why, I was actually quite pleased with myself. For once, I had not been screwed over by fate. Now, don't flatter yourself, I never for a second wanted us to meet. But hey, what was I to do? It was either that or waste my inheritance on an even more annoying saintly bloke. And God knows, I didn't want another fellow like old Jimbo. So you it was, Jude. Nowhere outside I could go. I couldn't run away from it all so I made do. With you.
And I gave it a shot, I really really did. Heck, I'm still giving it a shot. But Jesus, I really can't take it anymore, Jude. You and I were never ever meant to be. It's just this cruel twist of fate, that's all. I mean, yeah, you're really chilled about everything, don't give much of a crap if I'm not punctual, or I come late, or just not show up at all, and plus you've protected me from any assault or embarrassment of any sort, but it's not enough, Jude, it just isn't. Fact is, all your merits considered, you have nothing to offer me. And the obstinate, hard-to-satisfy arsehole that I am, I never will try hard enough to get used to all your shortcomings. Perhaps the only
thing I can thank you for is that you've saved me from that bloke I was talking about and I have to listen to less drivel from those people that conceived me. But at what cost? You take up all my time, you leave me with a splitting migraine most of the days, you burden me with work that'll help only for a year (hopefully) and you leave me in no shape to create games, to write, to play music, to get work done that will help in the long run. No. I've lost control. I'm desperately struggling to grab onto something to pull myself back up. But damn it, Jude, you're making it so bad.
The least you could have done is to have amongst yourself some people I could get with. The people I didn't know from beginning, most, I don't really want to know either. And that's where the ennui comes in and boy, does it rip my brains out and have a right-old trample about with it. Fine, I will concede that there are decent people, and some I wouldn't mind having a chat about with, but that
number is certainly in the minority. About 5 in a group of 50 I'd say.
Blimey, then there's the food. Or rather the place where you make it edible. Could you have found a place dirtier? Wasn't there any other nook and cranny more revolting than the drains you fry your foods by? And finally, the things I enjoy doing you take it and place it at a time, in which I can't enjoy them. For by then, the ennui has already left me dead and longing for home. Damn you, Jude, damn you straight to hell.
In the end, I suppose you could say I'm being a right dick. I complain too much, I need too much to satisfy myself, and I'm probably not deserving of the demands I crave. But shag me twice, I needed to vent out and I have. Let's face it, the problem is mine. Most people who know you, love you to bits and would be very sad to depart from you. But for me personally, hopefully the last time we meet isn't far. Hopefully, 4 months hence, I'll be certified of our last dance. Till then I hope and pray that that day is not far when I'll be able to say,
Ma na na na na na
Hey Hey Hey (Jude)
Good-fucking-bye.
You are indeed making it bad. At first, I thought we would get along, I really did. So when I saw my name in lights, why, I was actually quite pleased with myself. For once, I had not been screwed over by fate. Now, don't flatter yourself, I never for a second wanted us to meet. But hey, what was I to do? It was either that or waste my inheritance on an even more annoying saintly bloke. And God knows, I didn't want another fellow like old Jimbo. So you it was, Jude. Nowhere outside I could go. I couldn't run away from it all so I made do. With you.
And I gave it a shot, I really really did. Heck, I'm still giving it a shot. But Jesus, I really can't take it anymore, Jude. You and I were never ever meant to be. It's just this cruel twist of fate, that's all. I mean, yeah, you're really chilled about everything, don't give much of a crap if I'm not punctual, or I come late, or just not show up at all, and plus you've protected me from any assault or embarrassment of any sort, but it's not enough, Jude, it just isn't. Fact is, all your merits considered, you have nothing to offer me. And the obstinate, hard-to-satisfy arsehole that I am, I never will try hard enough to get used to all your shortcomings. Perhaps the only
thing I can thank you for is that you've saved me from that bloke I was talking about and I have to listen to less drivel from those people that conceived me. But at what cost? You take up all my time, you leave me with a splitting migraine most of the days, you burden me with work that'll help only for a year (hopefully) and you leave me in no shape to create games, to write, to play music, to get work done that will help in the long run. No. I've lost control. I'm desperately struggling to grab onto something to pull myself back up. But damn it, Jude, you're making it so bad.
The least you could have done is to have amongst yourself some people I could get with. The people I didn't know from beginning, most, I don't really want to know either. And that's where the ennui comes in and boy, does it rip my brains out and have a right-old trample about with it. Fine, I will concede that there are decent people, and some I wouldn't mind having a chat about with, but that
number is certainly in the minority. About 5 in a group of 50 I'd say.
Blimey, then there's the food. Or rather the place where you make it edible. Could you have found a place dirtier? Wasn't there any other nook and cranny more revolting than the drains you fry your foods by? And finally, the things I enjoy doing you take it and place it at a time, in which I can't enjoy them. For by then, the ennui has already left me dead and longing for home. Damn you, Jude, damn you straight to hell.
In the end, I suppose you could say I'm being a right dick. I complain too much, I need too much to satisfy myself, and I'm probably not deserving of the demands I crave. But shag me twice, I needed to vent out and I have. Let's face it, the problem is mine. Most people who know you, love you to bits and would be very sad to depart from you. But for me personally, hopefully the last time we meet isn't far. Hopefully, 4 months hence, I'll be certified of our last dance. Till then I hope and pray that that day is not far when I'll be able to say,
Ma na na na na na
Hey Hey Hey (Jude)
Good-fucking-bye.
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