Cigarettes and Change
Its weird. Lately, I have been thinking of my future as a writer, but I keep looking to the past for examples of why I should make this my future--I should be practicing to get better.
I have also been thinking my drug use; the alcohol, the cigarettes, the marijuana, so on and on... This lead me to the most-important night in the transformation of self that occurred Senior year.
It was a night on the town with Megun, Bey, and Candice... Long, long ago...
This is a recording of the night of my new resolution. It was the first time I ever inhaled a cigarette. Also it started out as me pretending to want to try different drugs, but as the later conversion went on something inside me changed.
The afternoon of the night that this piece is written about, I talked to my grade school girlfriend from California, and our conversation was the first spark to the inferno I am firmly part of now. When I found out she was no longer the stellar scholar-althlete of our prehigh school days I was unphased, but finding out she smoked pot shocked me.
I posted this once in LJ and deviantART.com, but I revised it a bit, and I wanted to repost and rename it. I would use a new icon, but I don't have photoshop here at college, so I will just deal with the MSPaint logo I have for it now.
Be kind, this is very old, and very dear to me.
Cigarettes and Knowledge
Cigarettes burn twice as fast when you inhale them because you are addicted, instead of puffing them while trying to look cool.
"Fuck it, just fuck it," the young apprentice said as he fished his penis out of the leg of his boxers, making a huge seen in window outside of the crowded Starbucks Café. "Some things just need to be experienced, and sometimes you just gotta walk," he said, while finishing his exclamation with his menthol's final drag. His slang-filled efforts to come off as “cool” paralleled his attempts to prove a point.
Time changes the setting of a story, nothing else. This time they were out on the town, 10 o'clock on a Friday, tripping on life and cursing at redundancy. The two young men walked into the popular bookstore like kings, feeling no less important--What the fuck else is there to do in Peoria after 10? Where the fuck was everyone else? Impressionables cannot stand to be alone.
"I need to do more drugs," the novice stated with drunken simplicity, hiding his desperate grasps for approval. "You can't experience life from every angle if you never get a chance to look at it from an aerial view.” His mindless philosophy flooding the discount section, as he methodically walked down the aisle examining every title as though he had plans to make a purchase--as if he cared enough to pick one out, really just avoiding eye contact with his idol after his clever reference to getting high.
“Acid’s nice.” The veteran of indulgence answered smoothly. It was that simple to him; the answers flowed as the smoke had once before, and like the vomit of his answer’s consequence.
The neophyte gazed into his own subconscious, ready to read the answers in his head, and searching for loopholes in his personal limitations. How far was he willing to let this go? He wanted something so much. Was it satisfaction or destruction? Was it ice cream? Was this really how his life was going to unfold?
"Well, I'd have to try it before I can judge it." His obvious hint dropped so hard the ground shook, and the novices first step into deviance was interupted by his stumbling.
"Well...” The connoisseur’s contemplative response was accompanied with a shadow-hidden grin and plans for the future.
…and so the night went on.
EXTREMELY,
Breitbarth.