subject? i am all subjects, at all times.
franz kafka wrote in his diary sometime around christmas that three days he'd been meaning specifically to set aside to write had been taken up with "personal matters." he got sick, which sounds like a pussy-ass thing, but people really got sick back then. i mean, the man died of tuberculosis.
but aside from that, and aside from the fact that it's weird that a jew set aside christmas eve and christmas day as times for personal reflection and written testimony as to one's condition, it's testament to the fact that you can't force the feelings of reflection and solitude necesary for writing. no matter how expected they are on certain occasions.
like one's twenty-fifth birthday.
i haven't been expectant, or miserable, or reflective all day. i've been playing fucking trivia games online all day.
at times, it seemed like a huge fist of sentiment was gathering me up, ready to roll me out into some prepared statement on age, and sorrow, and new hope, old regrets, dreams deferred, etc. but only at times. most of the time i was deliberately numbing myself to what i used to desperately strive for. that is, some sort of crushing emotional confrontation with my self, my hopes, my past, my surroundings. numb, numb, numb.
i was more concerned with smoking. see, i'm quitting tomorrow. CT. never look back. well, i'm sure i'll smoke once in awhile. but i remain absolutely iron-clad on this. i won't be smoking regularly again.
and since i'm doing this, i thought i'd provide a general list for all the whiny-ass, pathetic non-smokers who keep trying to get their smoker friends to quit as to why they are never, ever going to convince their smoking friends to quit.
first of all, health: are you kidding me? do you think that any amount of statistic rambling, unseemly business ethics revealing, don't-hurt-those-who-are-innocent-around-you whining is news to us? look, we know. and look: it doesn't matter. we're at the age where cancer is, to quote david berman:
"a tree way up in the distance
where it didn't matter.
and i suppose a dead soul must
look back at that tree.
so far back that it also doesn't matter
except as a memory of rest
or water."
and don't get me started on business ethics. for every fucking bullshit pseudo-liberal argument about the tobacco industry, i have about six billion about the budweiser you're drinking while you're lecturing me about it.
oh, fuck it. this is no use. or fun. kafka was right. instead i'm going to talk about why smokers smoke.
first of all, consider the age of the smoker. if they're legally able to purchase cigarettes, the conscious reasoning has nothing to do with "fitting in" or "looking cool." i know you know that, but you all seem to think that it's still an issue. there's this hysterical battle of "well, you'll never find a girl that wants to kiss someone who tastes like an ashtray" that still gets circulated in the horrific singles world. hey: news to you idiotic single girls who foist that on the skinny hipster you want to marry but never will: HE DOESN'T LIKE YOU. nor will he. i hate to let the cat out of the bag, but smoking kind of is not a "lifestyle choice" like say... top or bottom, or white socks with loafers. it essentially points to a certain mental state. and that mental state is an exclusive little club of smokers. of course no one is going to romance a lady if he's a smoker. smokers don't romance or charm. they attract.
and that's at the heart of why most smokers smoke that no non-smoker will ever, ever understand. and it's so easy. as much as you say "smoking isn't cool" in elementary school, and no matter how many popular icons you get to say that same message, what do you do with cool hand luke? with tom waits? with jack nicholson? with any foreign movie star ever?
it is, despite the obvious pitfall of admitting it, a je ne s'ais quoi. and how could you possibly address that emotion in an individual. smoking is a metaphor of a metaphor. it's not like some little shit playing basketball because he idolizes an nba player. it's attempting to reach that space that other (even fictional) beings have reached. not because of smoking. but because of something that made them smoke. we associate qualities in these heroic figures that we cannot possibly emulate. the symbol of these qualities is the cigarette they smoke. especially in these days of a desperate and pathetic attempt to make it not "look cool." it's rebellion piled on rebellion upo rebellion. yes, it's reblious to rebel against the standards that say you're a rebel if you smoke. but how much more rebellious are you if you rebel against them?
but it's also about solitude. smoking is increasingly a solitary or like-minded activity, and i can think of no other appropriate excuse in polite company to essentially say, "hey guys, i'm going to take a break from this shit-fest. see you in five." or "guys, i need an excuse to ponder the stars and wonder about the human condition without somebody making a joke about penises for a bit." if you can think of a feasible one, my door is open.
but ultimately, it's a personal decision, and any attempt to combat the fact of someone you (truly) care about smoking can only be combatted on a personal level. if you all would learn a way to say, "andy, smoking is never going to bring back that moment of pure stasis outside on your deck with drew jorgensen your junior year of college that you eventually wrote a poem about, just because you were smoking then" and say it in a way that made me think that, rather than have you saying that to me directly, well, you might have a fighting chance.
but no one seems to understand the necessary sadness of smoking. no one likes solitude anymore. no one admits to idolatry. at least not in a way that they really mean.
so shut the fuck up and let them smoke. and look at them they way they want to be looked at. isolated, alone, and smoking, against all pragmatic advice because pragmatism has betrayed them somehow.
and i won't be one of them anymore. i don't want a single fucking word of congratulations on this, because i will literally rip your head clean off your body. seriously. i've been working out. i could do it.
but aside from that, and aside from the fact that it's weird that a jew set aside christmas eve and christmas day as times for personal reflection and written testimony as to one's condition, it's testament to the fact that you can't force the feelings of reflection and solitude necesary for writing. no matter how expected they are on certain occasions.
like one's twenty-fifth birthday.
i haven't been expectant, or miserable, or reflective all day. i've been playing fucking trivia games online all day.
at times, it seemed like a huge fist of sentiment was gathering me up, ready to roll me out into some prepared statement on age, and sorrow, and new hope, old regrets, dreams deferred, etc. but only at times. most of the time i was deliberately numbing myself to what i used to desperately strive for. that is, some sort of crushing emotional confrontation with my self, my hopes, my past, my surroundings. numb, numb, numb.
i was more concerned with smoking. see, i'm quitting tomorrow. CT. never look back. well, i'm sure i'll smoke once in awhile. but i remain absolutely iron-clad on this. i won't be smoking regularly again.
and since i'm doing this, i thought i'd provide a general list for all the whiny-ass, pathetic non-smokers who keep trying to get their smoker friends to quit as to why they are never, ever going to convince their smoking friends to quit.
first of all, health: are you kidding me? do you think that any amount of statistic rambling, unseemly business ethics revealing, don't-hurt-those-who-are-innocent-around-you whining is news to us? look, we know. and look: it doesn't matter. we're at the age where cancer is, to quote david berman:
"a tree way up in the distance
where it didn't matter.
and i suppose a dead soul must
look back at that tree.
so far back that it also doesn't matter
except as a memory of rest
or water."
and don't get me started on business ethics. for every fucking bullshit pseudo-liberal argument about the tobacco industry, i have about six billion about the budweiser you're drinking while you're lecturing me about it.
oh, fuck it. this is no use. or fun. kafka was right. instead i'm going to talk about why smokers smoke.
first of all, consider the age of the smoker. if they're legally able to purchase cigarettes, the conscious reasoning has nothing to do with "fitting in" or "looking cool." i know you know that, but you all seem to think that it's still an issue. there's this hysterical battle of "well, you'll never find a girl that wants to kiss someone who tastes like an ashtray" that still gets circulated in the horrific singles world. hey: news to you idiotic single girls who foist that on the skinny hipster you want to marry but never will: HE DOESN'T LIKE YOU. nor will he. i hate to let the cat out of the bag, but smoking kind of is not a "lifestyle choice" like say... top or bottom, or white socks with loafers. it essentially points to a certain mental state. and that mental state is an exclusive little club of smokers. of course no one is going to romance a lady if he's a smoker. smokers don't romance or charm. they attract.
and that's at the heart of why most smokers smoke that no non-smoker will ever, ever understand. and it's so easy. as much as you say "smoking isn't cool" in elementary school, and no matter how many popular icons you get to say that same message, what do you do with cool hand luke? with tom waits? with jack nicholson? with any foreign movie star ever?
it is, despite the obvious pitfall of admitting it, a je ne s'ais quoi. and how could you possibly address that emotion in an individual. smoking is a metaphor of a metaphor. it's not like some little shit playing basketball because he idolizes an nba player. it's attempting to reach that space that other (even fictional) beings have reached. not because of smoking. but because of something that made them smoke. we associate qualities in these heroic figures that we cannot possibly emulate. the symbol of these qualities is the cigarette they smoke. especially in these days of a desperate and pathetic attempt to make it not "look cool." it's rebellion piled on rebellion upo rebellion. yes, it's reblious to rebel against the standards that say you're a rebel if you smoke. but how much more rebellious are you if you rebel against them?
but it's also about solitude. smoking is increasingly a solitary or like-minded activity, and i can think of no other appropriate excuse in polite company to essentially say, "hey guys, i'm going to take a break from this shit-fest. see you in five." or "guys, i need an excuse to ponder the stars and wonder about the human condition without somebody making a joke about penises for a bit." if you can think of a feasible one, my door is open.
but ultimately, it's a personal decision, and any attempt to combat the fact of someone you (truly) care about smoking can only be combatted on a personal level. if you all would learn a way to say, "andy, smoking is never going to bring back that moment of pure stasis outside on your deck with drew jorgensen your junior year of college that you eventually wrote a poem about, just because you were smoking then" and say it in a way that made me think that, rather than have you saying that to me directly, well, you might have a fighting chance.
but no one seems to understand the necessary sadness of smoking. no one likes solitude anymore. no one admits to idolatry. at least not in a way that they really mean.
so shut the fuck up and let them smoke. and look at them they way they want to be looked at. isolated, alone, and smoking, against all pragmatic advice because pragmatism has betrayed them somehow.
and i won't be one of them anymore. i don't want a single fucking word of congratulations on this, because i will literally rip your head clean off your body. seriously. i've been working out. i could do it.