the 365

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Its all in my head part 1

I have quit smoking... again. Not that I have developed a habit that looms over me punishing every step I take with burning need, and want to subdue that need. No I am quite the trendy social "I like to smoke" fella that has one when he decides he will have one. Usually I employ this when I want to relate to coworkers and other smokers, or when I want two seconds to myself without looking like the wierdo who is just sitting there.

That is something that I miss most, sitting there but whatever. I do it from time to time, occasionally as that wierdo that just sits there.

But I have quit. I have decided that for the time being I will work on the spare tire that is developing around my middle and the first step is to get back in cardiovascular health.

This is why I have quit... again. Me and my body both know that this wont last, but we continue.

Instead of smoking I have developed another fixation: watching people smoke. Thru the big panes of glass that line the front of the store, I sit in the cafe and burn a hole in the backs of the heads of the people on the patio. I imagine the cigarette in their hands, the smoke entering their lungs, the pause (like the sudden stop in the ascent of a roller coaster) and the exhale (then its swift plummet). I am smoking, but not really. But the thought of it is taking me to the place where a smoke would take me, the dry scratchy throat that I cherished dousing with black bitter espresso not three years ago, the lucid aftermath of my chimney impersonation.

And while I was only a visitor to this exchange, I felt like a regular again. But this time I had no longer was limited to a cigarette. Why I could smoke a pipe, or a nice cigar. Shit I could probably smoke those benson and hedge's ultra light menthol 100's and imagine that they tasted like a quality corona, although I know they taste like a stale nappy breath mint mixed in with burnt napkins.

Yes my habit was alive and kicking again, only reinvented as a voyeuristic skylarking. I started to develop a mental scratchy throat. Sometimes I told myself I was winded from being on my feet all day. And when I didnt see anyone smoking, my brain would get surley and I would start to get agro. I needed to witness the act to get my fix.

Then I discovered the amazing publication that is Cigar Afficianado. No more staring out the window at random customers hoping they smoked quality stuff. Here was a mag that was nothing but the best of the best, classy people (sometimes) smoking high quality cubans, luchious brown expertly lit rothchilds, custom blended hand picked flakes of quality tobacoo rolled in tastefull thick paper with a gold trim.

I was smoking things I beyond my caste system. I was drunk off of depicted 12 year old scotch. Romanced by the fire lit dens with the amber glow of the of the dying fire as I polish off my port and marinate in the smoky aura around plush red leather.

I did this all throughout my shift, keeping a copy in my apron pocket. I imagined I smoked over a hundred cigars and handrolled cigarettes every day. Not only that, I downed so much high quality scotch in my mind I couldnt keep my imagination straight.

I was imagining hangovers. In the morning I would wake up headaches on my mind, every once in a while giving a thought to withdrawals.

This wasnt good, I thought my imaginary health was dwindling. So I needed to get to some medical advice.

So I went my Doctor. He ran some tests but they all came back fine. I told hime how I thought I felt and he refered me to one of his collegues.

"Your problem sounds made up to me. This is beyond my abilities to heal. Here is a card of a specialist I know in the area. She lives down the road from me. We have a tea-time every Wednesday. She is very bright, and she can help with you imaginary problem. Just make sure she gets her homework done before your appointment."

Sunday, January 25, 2009

King Corona, I miss you (crap tribute part 2)

Everytime I think of Corona it always takes me back to a particular time in my life where I was spending most of my days spitballing exactly what I wanted to do with myself. My cohort and witness to all of this is the author of the previous entry: http://shaneguyexternal.blogspot.com/2009/01/king-corona-in-tribute.html and fellow Corona devotee $hane Guy.

Both of us would spend what had to be at least 4 days a week sitting by the window inside sipping endless drinks (his usual coke and pack of dunhills that later grew to incorporate Cafe con leches and the occasional Bass Ale, me with my double espresso with lemon, water, and Cuesta Rey robusto # 27) and wonder why girls werent digging us and when would we get to go out and live our lives and starve for art... in other words blah blah blah blah.

But those werent idealic times. We werent crying over spilled milk. We werent those cliched self indulgent teenagers that thought they were exempt from the whole current of life. That they were unique and that the whole of existense centered on their shit. Quite the contrary, we knew we were smarter than 90% of our peers, and that we had shit to say. We also knew that we were unique, that we were better than the schmuck on the laptop and bluetooth two tables down, telling his fellow piece of trash on the other end of the line how much money he scored on his current business deal and how trashed they got at channelside. That we wanted nothing to do with him or anyone like that.

I cannot vouche much for $hane. To his credit he was born with a filter and he kept a large amount of his shit to himself, slowly and strategically letting it leak into our conversations. As for me, I would spew endless shit into the air: personal diatribes, half baked thoughts, quasi-offensive somewhat insensitive and rather rude remarks on a wide variety of topics that seemed to be plucked out of the magical air that got trapped behind that beautiful pane of glass that lined the north end of the cafe facing the street. $hane's experiance was different than mine, and from I could gather in 2006, he felt like a robinson crusoe even amongst the public.

As for me I always somewhere else. The grass was always greener, and everytime I arrived at Corona I was always wishing I was somewhere else. Somewhere that was better then here. The irony is now that I really wish I could be at Corona. I spent so much time there, and I worked some much shit with myself. I made aloud so many thoughts, ironed out so many feelings, exhausted myself of myself that I was ready to do something else. I am in need of that again. Maybe it was just the nicotine and the caffeine coursing through my empty stomach into my bloodstream, but when I left that place I felt energized and focused, all my ducks were in a row. Like a therapy high except it always accessable and cheaper.

$hane could tell you the name of everyone there, how good the coke tasted that day, who made the made the best coffee drink... shit he knows what the upstairs looks like! I on the other hand couldnt tell you name of a single individual there besides shane. Nor could I discern the difference in the cigars I smoked, only if they were shit or they were good. Everything I drank ate or smoked was standard issue and i never changed it. I was to busy with other things. So I guess maybe my experiance was slightly more existential.

So what to write after admitting all of this. What other thing should I write about than that magical window of time I got to tick away the hours of the day spending all of money on hummus and olive salads and over elaborate espresso/milk drinks. The truth is that is my Corona. I dont go there anymore because I dont live in Tampa and when I do visit there is always something oddly drained about it. I was there when things in my life carried some sort of emotional weight. Nowadays I have experianced a lot more and have done the things I only talked about it when I was a regular.

But mark my words, there is still more work to be done with myself, and work to be done in general. I will return to that little hole in the wall on the southside of 7th, get buzzed on shots of caffeine and nicotine, and descend to the streets to change your shit. mark my words.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Hello everyone in Blogland... just wanted to say hi. Gotta go now, but I will be back with a blog's worth of goodness

Saturday, January 17, 2009

I repeat "The Practical Guide to ASTRAL PROJECTIONS"

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Found Book #10

this is ridiculously perfect for a certain person who follows this blog, and she should contact me if she wants me to get her a deal on it. Jesus its even PINK!!!

Dallas