like mirrors facing mirrors
So I'm quitting smoking. Yay? Day one was pretty easy. I think I'll be good, then just get bored and be like "HEY I'M GONNA GO SMOKE A CIGARETTE!!! YAAAAAY!!!" I had one last smoke yesterday night. I would have said last night, but saying last smoke next to last night sounds so... redundant. I also say last, though I know it won't be my last. Ahh, degredations on degredations. The half life is approaching, and soon even infinity becomes finite.
I wanted my last smoke to be a Camel, but fucking douchebag Stef took me to Sundance instead of 7-11... had to buy American Sprits. They burn longer, and it was nice having that pack for almost a whole week. Taste like ass, thought, which I guess helped motivate me towards quitting. I like the relationship you generate with a pack of cigarettes. Its like... a wallet and a switchblade.
To have a lighter and a pack of cigarettes is to satisfy all the needs you have day to day on the streets. And I would like to state here that I'm in fact not from the streets. I'm from the burbs. But today's burbs are like yesterdays streets... its the everybody thing to do. To have cigarettes is to be free from everything, except of course your need for fire. Nobody else needs fire like the smoker. Nobody else needs nothing like the smoker. Smokers don't need candybars, or bags of salted chips, were like the ascetics - mutulating our lungs, walking the streets at night, coming home to pass out on our parent's leather sofas. To be a smoker gives you anonymity. You can be a bank robber to a hardboiled priest. But whatever you are, you do it cooler and better than anybody else.
But no, its nothing like that. Its a disgusting habit glorified by people that are ashamed of themselves. Thats why smokers only associate with smokers, usualy, when they talk about the glory of smoking... Thickening their clouds of cancer and stench until it envelops them all in that delecate embrace of death. Or maybe that its just that nobody but a smoker would understand why people are willing to die from it. It is a bad thing, but it doesnt make you a bad person.
These two mirrors, looking at eachother. What can they know about themselves without trusting the other to be true. The other's blemishes are passed off as their own, either each thinking themself perfect and the other flawed, or the other perfect and themselves flawed.
No, its nothing like that. Maybe theyre just two peices of glass facing eachother, peering back and forth. Maybe there is nothing romantic in life. Maybe there is nothing worth killing yourself for. But maybe inside that hallway of mirrors, one is perfect... maybe life has a point, and maybe there are somethings in life worth sacrificing that point for. Maybe its just not cigarettes.
Fuck off.
morris
I wanted my last smoke to be a Camel, but fucking douchebag Stef took me to Sundance instead of 7-11... had to buy American Sprits. They burn longer, and it was nice having that pack for almost a whole week. Taste like ass, thought, which I guess helped motivate me towards quitting. I like the relationship you generate with a pack of cigarettes. Its like... a wallet and a switchblade.
To have a lighter and a pack of cigarettes is to satisfy all the needs you have day to day on the streets. And I would like to state here that I'm in fact not from the streets. I'm from the burbs. But today's burbs are like yesterdays streets... its the everybody thing to do. To have cigarettes is to be free from everything, except of course your need for fire. Nobody else needs fire like the smoker. Nobody else needs nothing like the smoker. Smokers don't need candybars, or bags of salted chips, were like the ascetics - mutulating our lungs, walking the streets at night, coming home to pass out on our parent's leather sofas. To be a smoker gives you anonymity. You can be a bank robber to a hardboiled priest. But whatever you are, you do it cooler and better than anybody else.
But no, its nothing like that. Its a disgusting habit glorified by people that are ashamed of themselves. Thats why smokers only associate with smokers, usualy, when they talk about the glory of smoking... Thickening their clouds of cancer and stench until it envelops them all in that delecate embrace of death. Or maybe that its just that nobody but a smoker would understand why people are willing to die from it. It is a bad thing, but it doesnt make you a bad person.
These two mirrors, looking at eachother. What can they know about themselves without trusting the other to be true. The other's blemishes are passed off as their own, either each thinking themself perfect and the other flawed, or the other perfect and themselves flawed.
No, its nothing like that. Maybe theyre just two peices of glass facing eachother, peering back and forth. Maybe there is nothing romantic in life. Maybe there is nothing worth killing yourself for. But maybe inside that hallway of mirrors, one is perfect... maybe life has a point, and maybe there are somethings in life worth sacrificing that point for. Maybe its just not cigarettes.
Fuck off.
morris