I haven't been smoking but for a couple years. And it's only been recently that I've been a full-time smoker with benefits. I know I picked a piss poor time to stop with work the way it is and wanting to drop the lbs's. But nevertheless, being quasi asthmatic and having allergies is not so condusive to inhaling 1,000's of carcinigens on a 3-4 hour basis. But God, I love it.
A couple weekends ago when the weather was beautiful, I took my 20 year old wooden dining room table chair outside to the deck behind my house. I sat there for hours. Drinking Blue Moon, smoking Marlboros and reading the April edition of the Sun Magazine. It was so peaceful and inspiring. I wrote some half drunk thing about Iranian women and how they are more liberated than American women in their shrouds and inconspicuous clothing. I haven't brought myself to read back through it since I was kind of drunk when I wrote it. That makes me really nervous for some reason. I know...I need Xanax.
I'll miss the late night smokes after work when it's lightly raining and you can hear the hustle and bustle from the busy street in front of my aging house. I shut the screen door so Frank can pretend he's an outside cat for a couple of minutes. He loves it. I don't play music. I don't read. I don't talk on the phone. I just sit there and let the brain go where it wants to go. I find myself smiling and laughing one minute and tearing up the next. I think about my little life and how my thoughts are almost always of a selfish nature. I've come to the conclusion that life was good when you were a kid, because everything was just one emotion. You got ice cream...VERY HAPPY! You got sent to your room three times in the same day (yeah...I was a hand full as a kid)...VERY unhappy. Your mom tells you the kittens left on your front door got shipped to a kitten park...BAWLING unhappy. Now nothing seems to be just happy or just sad.
So, I say all that to say this: I'll miss you smokey nights, alone on the deck...I'll miss you. See! proves my point. Sad about the smokey nights...Happy to be done with nicotine. Life.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Death by Sake Bomb
I walk into this nice retaraunt and head straight for the bar. My stomach is doing that same thing it does after bad Mexican food. I need a cigarette. Damn! Smoked the last of them at my party last night.
He's sitting there waiting for me. Black pearl snap shirt, Lucky jeans with a patch on the knee. Weathered brown boots with that metal loop on the side. And that shiny bald head.
A reasonably short but heartfelt embrace, at least on my part. A Shiner for me and we head home.
I open my present. Sake bombs. Great present! Meaningful, so I thought. Representative of times past, we shared together. I wish he would have bought me a fucking pre-packaged gift basket from Bath & Body works. Something really cheesy like Sun Ripened Rasberry.
So, tell me. Why wouldn't you stay with me last night? Why?
Why do you make me think you like me?
Why the fucking sake bombs?
Why anything at all?
I sort of feel like kicking all your teeth out of your head.
Fuck. Leave me & my emotions alone!
Don't write. Don't call. And for God's sake. If you must give me a present for my birthday DO NOT comemorate a date we had a month ago with it! DON'T!
You emotional bounty hunter.
"Hello, my name is Domino Harvey."
"Hello, my name is SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
I don't want to hear about your documentaries.
I don't want to hear about your tool father.
You manipulator of me
You manifestation of contradiction
You manicured piece of shit
Sake...Sake...Sake BOMB!
The short tower of hope, demolished.
I threw the ceramic carafe and four sake cups over the balcony. I gathered the chards, took my bottle of sake and one Sippora downstairs. I brought the chop sticks with me...oh and the little bag covered in Asian cloth too. I burnt it all. Emotions turned to ash. Feeling disappeared like difusing smoke. All that was left was a pile of black nothingness.
Yet, somewhere underneath all of the nihilism emerges some need, some drive, some inner strength to not give up.
***I didn't really burn my present, but I thought about it***
He's sitting there waiting for me. Black pearl snap shirt, Lucky jeans with a patch on the knee. Weathered brown boots with that metal loop on the side. And that shiny bald head.
A reasonably short but heartfelt embrace, at least on my part. A Shiner for me and we head home.
I open my present. Sake bombs. Great present! Meaningful, so I thought. Representative of times past, we shared together. I wish he would have bought me a fucking pre-packaged gift basket from Bath & Body works. Something really cheesy like Sun Ripened Rasberry.
So, tell me. Why wouldn't you stay with me last night? Why?
Why do you make me think you like me?
Why the fucking sake bombs?
Why anything at all?
I sort of feel like kicking all your teeth out of your head.
Fuck. Leave me & my emotions alone!
Don't write. Don't call. And for God's sake. If you must give me a present for my birthday DO NOT comemorate a date we had a month ago with it! DON'T!
You emotional bounty hunter.
"Hello, my name is Domino Harvey."
"Hello, my name is SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
I don't want to hear about your documentaries.
I don't want to hear about your tool father.
You manipulator of me
You manifestation of contradiction
You manicured piece of shit
Sake...Sake...Sake BOMB!
The short tower of hope, demolished.
I threw the ceramic carafe and four sake cups over the balcony. I gathered the chards, took my bottle of sake and one Sippora downstairs. I brought the chop sticks with me...oh and the little bag covered in Asian cloth too. I burnt it all. Emotions turned to ash. Feeling disappeared like difusing smoke. All that was left was a pile of black nothingness.
Yet, somewhere underneath all of the nihilism emerges some need, some drive, some inner strength to not give up.
***I didn't really burn my present, but I thought about it***
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