Pseudo Junkie Me.

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.