Jar-full of butts
If stand up comedy could be compared to sports, then I guess you could say my interests are all over the place. I say this because I am not drawn to a specific genre of comedy. I love African American & African comedians. I love white comedians. I love foreign comedians. I love female comedians. Seriously, if you can make me laugh, you're aces in my book. One particular favorite, that I learned to appreciate from my sis is Bill Engvall. Sure, it might be his sarcastic, almost condescending manner he has when speaking of "dumb people", especially when he mocks them of their "stupidity", quickly following that up with "here's your sign" (his classic catch phrase) or the fact that he talks about his family who seem nice enough, but from his description almost makes mine seem normal. But, for me, its been his admission of smoking. As he's said time and again, "quitting smoking will kill me long before smoking ever does". I can't help but agree.
I was a staunch anti-smoker, having for years watched countless commercials listing the various dangers and health risks associated with it. I was never a bad boy by nature, so that was never an issue. In fact, I would've probably have been voted least likely to pick up smoking by my high school classmates, assuming any of them noticed an emaciated little kid that got skipped 2 grades and had finished puberty just before graduation.
I could cite peer pressure, insecurity and all the factors that are today's norm for substance abuse, but the truth is, I don't know how or why I started because I simply had no reason to start. I just did. And once I did, I was hooked. Even now, in my rather pathetic attempts to quit, I find myself at that perilous stage where "one is too much, a thousand not enough".
The kicker in all this is that now, I've become hooked, not to an obsessive, addictive point, but to a stage where, despite my best attempts, for every "crisis" that I encounter, my brain is simply a mass of emotions, a cyclone of uncertainty and false steps. Only by that magic drag, by that soothing sip can I begin to find some calm in the storm and proceed towards some solution.
Perhaps it is not the smoking itself that I am addicted to......but rather, the illusion of it. The illusion that every time something bad happens, something I don't care for, something that I seemingly can't handle, all I have to do is "imagine it in my mind, holding it in my hand, breathe it in and blow it away". As delusional as that may sound, perhaps there's truth in that, not just for me but for all of us.
I will be the first to admit that, if anything, it is a "band-aid solution" to a much larger problem. But until that problem is dealt with.....I suppose I'll be buying them in bulk. Personally, I don't relish the thought of dying horribly from some cancer-related illness, but I suppose how I go is of no consequence. After all, death is inevitable. Or, as Ted Danson said on an episode of "Becker" when speaking of his smoking.... "Life is a horse race towards death"......in my case, stress and repeated blunt force trauma are in the lead. I'm just giving cancer a chance to catch up........ha ha.
P.S. Enclosed is something I had written on the subject and I felt like sharing with the class, so enjoy.....
The first flicker of the flame, stagnant for mere moments, before empowered through the flow of its potent fluid;
Raising it to my lips mere fractions of an inch, it is more than enough, further disproving the old addage & all attempts to mute it;
Raising it to my lips, lighting the temporary extension, the illusion of release, I deeply drag, inhale and with a sudden calm, I exhale;
Watching as the smoke escapes my lips, my nose, billowing & mixing into the air, hoping that it will answer my prayers, but knowing it'll fail;
It's hangs between my fingers.......
I fill my lungs with the bitter sweet agony that it craves, knowing that it will do nothing for me, but wanting it nonetheless, hating myself for it;
Hanging on the expulsion of air & smoke, hoping to find some reprieve, some semblence of peace, hoping against hope, even if its just a bit;
As it liberates my inner self, a feeling washes over me, unlike a sense of bliss, but more of a calming loss of inhibition & control;
As fleeting as it is, I welcome it, this deadening of my senses, this mild, mind-numbing sense of displacement & withdrawl;
It's half way burnt out.......
I gaze upon the burning, smoldering stick, lookin upon it with a combination of many feelings & emotions that overwhelm me at once;
Amazed at how quickly it is drawing to an end, saddened for it could not be longer, ashamed that I would gladly submit to this mind-splitting punch;
Mostly, I am disappointed, discouraged by the little difference that is achieved through my efforts upon this rolled weed of false bliss;
It tantalizes me ever so softly, creeping upon my mind like a mirage, planting her seeds & after I am helpless, leaves me dismissed;
It's almost finished.....
As the final ends diminishes in my hand, I stare long & hard, reflecting upon the time spent, the time lost, watching it glaze as its strength weakens;
Engulfing my mind with the toxic estacy, fleeting though it may have been, I cherished & welcomed the dark delight, like a pagan-worshipping heathen;
Before my eyes, it withers, burning out to burn no more, taking with it the disillusion of me blowing out my pains into the dark, open sky;
As the final ashes fall across the ground before me, I am suddenly tired and everso mournful, as if a fraction of my being has already died;
I watch as it slips out of my fingers & falls into the jar with all the others......
I peer down as its final strokes of heat & smoke trickle upwards, like the falling of a slow rain, from the ground up, it wanders;
Watching as the inevitable occurs, left with nothing but a feeling of mild dispair, a cold nothing within my inner realms & a slight query to ponder;
Though I desired it so, at times even savagely, you gave me no joy, no peace, no solace, sheer pain, nothing I did brought me any comfort or gain;
I wonder when will I be able to break free from this hold, to just stand, to even utter these simple words with resoultion, "NUNQUAM ITERUM"
I walk away......
I was a staunch anti-smoker, having for years watched countless commercials listing the various dangers and health risks associated with it. I was never a bad boy by nature, so that was never an issue. In fact, I would've probably have been voted least likely to pick up smoking by my high school classmates, assuming any of them noticed an emaciated little kid that got skipped 2 grades and had finished puberty just before graduation.
I could cite peer pressure, insecurity and all the factors that are today's norm for substance abuse, but the truth is, I don't know how or why I started because I simply had no reason to start. I just did. And once I did, I was hooked. Even now, in my rather pathetic attempts to quit, I find myself at that perilous stage where "one is too much, a thousand not enough".
The kicker in all this is that now, I've become hooked, not to an obsessive, addictive point, but to a stage where, despite my best attempts, for every "crisis" that I encounter, my brain is simply a mass of emotions, a cyclone of uncertainty and false steps. Only by that magic drag, by that soothing sip can I begin to find some calm in the storm and proceed towards some solution.
Perhaps it is not the smoking itself that I am addicted to......but rather, the illusion of it. The illusion that every time something bad happens, something I don't care for, something that I seemingly can't handle, all I have to do is "imagine it in my mind, holding it in my hand, breathe it in and blow it away". As delusional as that may sound, perhaps there's truth in that, not just for me but for all of us.
I will be the first to admit that, if anything, it is a "band-aid solution" to a much larger problem. But until that problem is dealt with.....I suppose I'll be buying them in bulk. Personally, I don't relish the thought of dying horribly from some cancer-related illness, but I suppose how I go is of no consequence. After all, death is inevitable. Or, as Ted Danson said on an episode of "Becker" when speaking of his smoking.... "Life is a horse race towards death"......in my case, stress and repeated blunt force trauma are in the lead. I'm just giving cancer a chance to catch up........ha ha.
P.S. Enclosed is something I had written on the subject and I felt like sharing with the class, so enjoy.....
The first flicker of the flame, stagnant for mere moments, before empowered through the flow of its potent fluid;
Raising it to my lips mere fractions of an inch, it is more than enough, further disproving the old addage & all attempts to mute it;
Raising it to my lips, lighting the temporary extension, the illusion of release, I deeply drag, inhale and with a sudden calm, I exhale;
Watching as the smoke escapes my lips, my nose, billowing & mixing into the air, hoping that it will answer my prayers, but knowing it'll fail;
It's hangs between my fingers.......
I fill my lungs with the bitter sweet agony that it craves, knowing that it will do nothing for me, but wanting it nonetheless, hating myself for it;
Hanging on the expulsion of air & smoke, hoping to find some reprieve, some semblence of peace, hoping against hope, even if its just a bit;
As it liberates my inner self, a feeling washes over me, unlike a sense of bliss, but more of a calming loss of inhibition & control;
As fleeting as it is, I welcome it, this deadening of my senses, this mild, mind-numbing sense of displacement & withdrawl;
It's half way burnt out.......
I gaze upon the burning, smoldering stick, lookin upon it with a combination of many feelings & emotions that overwhelm me at once;
Amazed at how quickly it is drawing to an end, saddened for it could not be longer, ashamed that I would gladly submit to this mind-splitting punch;
Mostly, I am disappointed, discouraged by the little difference that is achieved through my efforts upon this rolled weed of false bliss;
It tantalizes me ever so softly, creeping upon my mind like a mirage, planting her seeds & after I am helpless, leaves me dismissed;
It's almost finished.....
As the final ends diminishes in my hand, I stare long & hard, reflecting upon the time spent, the time lost, watching it glaze as its strength weakens;
Engulfing my mind with the toxic estacy, fleeting though it may have been, I cherished & welcomed the dark delight, like a pagan-worshipping heathen;
Before my eyes, it withers, burning out to burn no more, taking with it the disillusion of me blowing out my pains into the dark, open sky;
As the final ashes fall across the ground before me, I am suddenly tired and everso mournful, as if a fraction of my being has already died;
I watch as it slips out of my fingers & falls into the jar with all the others......
I peer down as its final strokes of heat & smoke trickle upwards, like the falling of a slow rain, from the ground up, it wanders;
Watching as the inevitable occurs, left with nothing but a feeling of mild dispair, a cold nothing within my inner realms & a slight query to ponder;
Though I desired it so, at times even savagely, you gave me no joy, no peace, no solace, sheer pain, nothing I did brought me any comfort or gain;
I wonder when will I be able to break free from this hold, to just stand, to even utter these simple words with resoultion, "NUNQUAM ITERUM"
I walk away......
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