the smoke ·
24 June 04

Ah the veritable youth.

Disassociated, dysfunctional, distant from the rest of the world – from the entirety of what real life entails. Happy to believe that the world perceive as their world is everyone’s world.

23, good job, amazing prospects at progression and always gifted with the ability to ruin what good I have in order to satisfy the malevolence within that continually prods, and pokes and asks for more, “feed me your negativity, show me that you still feel pain, let me know your true feelings. All that is good is wrong.”

Fuelled by the prospect that I may be in for a promotion or a change of departments, a better job and better pay. The malevolence awakes, it says “fuck this, fuck the job, ruin it – you know you want nothing. You need NOTHING. You only need ME.”

I give in for a moment, it has bothered me since my fever began, and there is another fever – the fever of immaturity and recklessness. It is beautiful; harking back to the ten years previous where I was but an empty shell filled with the anger of the world, and a worthy hatred for all that existed.

“10 Marlboro Reds, and a lighter please.” I give them my card; I sign the confirmation and walk out of the shop. As I walk, I debate with myself whether I wish to continue – I could stop right now, and I would have smokes, but I wouldn’t need to smoke them. “This doesn’t satisfy me. This isn’t enough. We demand more, we deserve more.” I unwrap the packet, as I walk down the escalator with smoke and lighter in hand, I walked down the platform where people come together like cats piled together, awaiting their feed. I look at the train times, despondent at what I am about to do.

People wear the same clothes, they have the same faces, they say the same things, and they repeat the same jokes.

I place the smoke between my lips, and light the smoke. Immediately the rush of poison hits my brain like a moment of electricity – shaking and baking my brain, reminding it of the moments we had together: we being the poison and myself.

As I smoke, I realise that I may very well end up in smoke, which this would be the beginning of something greater – the greater bad, the greater road to failure – the beginning of something that never ended those ten years ago. I can feel the nicotine coursing through my veins, mixing with my blood, bubbling like fire within my body. From top to bottom, from head to toe – the nicotine reacquaints itself with its home. “We’re back, and we’re happier – but we need more”

I contemplate the after effects of this moment – the stench of a smoke on my clothes, on my fingers, the staining reminder on my teeth. Crushing the butt of the smoke under my foot, I make my way to the shop to purchase my copy of EDGE. A magazine I have purchased for the last three issues and not read once. Sure I saw the cover, but I had no inclination to read. It was getting late, and I needed to get back to the office. I could still feel the river of nicotine making acquaintance with the parts it hard forgot to say hello to.

As I walked down to the platform to the office, I waited for the train. I stared at the train tracks, contemplating my next move. The frog with three eyes spoke,
“Christ, you’ve ruined yourself again – I know what you’re thinking, I know what you’re planning, I can sense it. It’s not good. You need to stop.”
“But I don’t need you. If you piss me off I’ll eat you.”
“You wouldn’t eat a three eyed frog!”
“If I was desperate, I would eat you raw.”
“I will be around if you need me.”
“I don’t need you”
“Then I’ll go”.

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Good riddance – three eyed fucking frog with its good intentions. Why three eyes? Christ knows – maybe the inclination that the third represents a look into ones soul, that it would be able to look deep inside, and take me away from all that was wrong. Why a frog? Talking frogs are pretty cool – especially when they’re imaginary.

I felt a bright light expose itself in my mind – a radiant beautiful shine that seemed over powering and filled with good intentions. I promptly pulled the blinds, blocking out the light. I couldn’t block out the words,
“You’re here again. And this time, no one will help you. You’ve been in this place before, and you won’t make it. You’re on your own if you continue.”
“So what’s new? I’ve always been alone – I WANT to be alone. It’s the only thing I can do in this wretched life I live.”

Brooding, self-pity; things over the years I have despised with great discourse – turning away those that could have gone down the same path, helping them to live better, think better and hope for more. To give them a chance, to help them see there is another way, there is another path – if you need to change, you can change, and you need faith. Was this all crap? I had convinced myself I had been lying to everyone, I am convinced I have, and now I had set them on a path they may not be able to complete. Not that I keep in touch with anyone. Always the loner, always alone, always the same.

At work, the joy of work. Morons would be better set to cope with this – if I could be defined as a level of humanity, I would fail to achieve the status of an amoeba. There is nothing inside I see that I want, that I need, that I care for. All that I wanted, all that I hoped for, my ambitions and good intentions all gone up in smoke.

I sit amongst walking, breathing mannequins. Etiquette and camaraderie the norm. Everyone from a higher class of life, a better background. The commoner, I sat amongst the privileged. I feel no empathy or trust within anyone. The cripple working next to me, spending day upon day asking 1001 ways to do this and that. LEARN YOU FUCKING RETARD. I hate her, I hate her with a real disdain. She could work harder, she could do so much more, hell the Directors have bitched about her incompetence – but it doesn’t matter. She continues at a snails pace to get on with her dull, lifeless work – at least she is a step up from the evolutionary ladder than I. But what a misery it is to behold this scrawny reject of life. Why do I despise such a sad creature, perhaps it is a reflection of the sadness and misery I see deep down. Except I am not ginger.

Having been “reviewed” by those who consider themselves my superiors, I am offered two large projects – both of which will be the entirety of my role. The pay may possibly be increased, thanks to their gluttonous souls, a possibility is eaten up by the management – my perception of management is not that of fat cats or pigs, but of huge, bulging, slime-ridden blobs – consuming all that enter its path, its view, and its senses. Consummation is the name of the game folks – a ladder of evolution and competition within a department that works for the people, to help the people improve their lives – the irony of it all is not missed by myself. Others, perhaps it lives in their subconscious, where the cobwebs are being formed, and the penicillin grows in the dew of shit that is stored away in a dark corner, where no one else can see.

harking back to the ten years previous where I was but an empty shell filled with the anger of the world, and a worthy hatred for all that existed.

Sparked by a moment of interest, and a second of clarity, I accept the offer. They tell me to draft the role, as it is uniquely designed for me in order to keep me here. They offer me a 2 year fixed term contract, but ponder on the possibility I may wish to have a 1 year contract in order not to feel locked in. Locked in? I feel I’ve been trapped in hell – if you want to know what hell is, imagine living your life in routine, where nothing EVER changes. People wear the same clothes, they have the same faces, they say the same things, and they repeat the same jokes. A life of repetition and monotony. Yeah, thanks for the 1 year option, I really appreciate the get out option – they express disappointment at my suggestion at a 6 month contract. But the lock-in story doesn’t go well with 6 months, perhaps that too much of a lock out – they need to procure my brain for more.

As the day draws to a close, the work load piles up. Surrounded by paper in an office aiming for a paperless office. Pile upon pile of files and correspondence. Like the early building blocks for a wall of segregation and division. A King’s castle without an exit. A world with no windows, just the words, so many words all the same monotonous, droning language of English.

I make my way home, going down the five floors – considering the possibility of a final smoke. I have not craved the nicotine, but I need to know. I light the smoke outside the building; I take a lung full and breathe out. Once more the nicotine follows the river of veins, down the canals where the blood flows, mixing, corrupting my blood with its vile toxins.

As I stand outside the several metre walk towards the entrance barriers, I smoke and keep smoking this smoke.
“So, feeling any better?”
“A little, but you know how I am – always empty”
“It’ll change, you just need to believe a little. You have no faith, in anything or anyone. You love, but you have no faith – that love is nothing without the faith”
“You need to stop now.”
“Well, as always, I’m around, always will be. Third and eye and everything,” He tilts his crown to one side, “See you around my friend. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m never fine – but…...thanks. See you around, friend”.

I stub out the smoke, and find a bin. I take hold of the packet and toss it away, into the world where it should remain forever. “I have never needed you. I just thought you could give me something. But you couldn’t. You do nothing for me; you are nothing to me, much like a reflection of myself to myself.”

I’m going home, with a better job, better prospects and the same old hatred.

Conclusion: Smoking IS BAD