I need a cigarette. Not just any cigarette but the kind which stays inside a box with a large picture of a pair of dark black lungs on it. I need a cigarette for my thoughts. You get me a Nimbooz. I am agitated or so I look. Perhaps something to drink would quell my thoughts. But I wish for a cigarette just like you. A cigarette that I can hold in between my fingers and bring to my lips, inhale something deep and release. There’s so much glamour attached to it. And this one time I am hoping there is more lighting a cigarette than glamour.
Half of my mind is unable to understand why you think I need something to drink, something chilled to cool me down. The other half doesn’t remember what just happened. It is unable to remember what went on in the past few minutes. It is just blank. Perhaps the emotions the events triggered caused a mental blackout.
A year is a long time. People produce small replicas of themselves in a year. Others travel to geographical extremes during that period. A single year can change the course of your entire life. A phenomena repeated continuously during of a year can affect one’s psyche can’t it? So I need a cigarette for the psyched one year I have lived. A cigarette for the room which drove me crazy. A cigarette for all those trees that looked like spots where people hanged themselves. And a cigarette just to carry on. I wish to light a cigarette and burn all those days in raging fire. I wish to see them lie in a heap of ashes in front of me.
Nothing exists anymore. Everything’s an empty vessel pretending to hold something that isn’t. Humility was a good trait wasn’t it? Now it isn’t. They say bragging is a virtue. Everyone’s busy selling the hollow selves they are. I don’t understand if I am old school or if anything I ever believed in were ever true. I just know that I need a cigarette. I’ll put it in a corner of my mouth and inhale deeply and exhale a wisp of smoke. I wish the world around me would vanish in that thick smoke. And I think of you. Of how lucky you are to be there no more. To put up through this bullshit called life and all that it is supposed to do you. To see everything we believed in crumble right before your eyes. I merely envy you.
My own freedom is limited to a saying on the mirror. ‘Everyone’s cage door is open.’ – George Lucas It’s just another illusion I have created for myself. I buy the statement during good times. I buy that ‘a world of possibilities’ crap more than I should. But happiness is a poor judge of reality. What wouldn’t we do to believe in ‘life’? Clarity comes in times like these. My own cage door is not open. I open one cage door and enter the other taking freedom to be that momentary stay outside of what I perceive to be a cage. The fact is all cages are contained in the larger one. There’s no freedom at all. Doors, cages everything exists to merely reinforce our blind faith in freedom. I am so tired of forcing myself to believe in things that are not. Of trying to find things to indulge in so that I can just continue leading the life I am expected to. How far can one feign enjoyment in indulgences which hold no meaning at all?
So just get me a damn cigarette. Or the shiny, slim cases from which people drink alcohol in the movies. A cigarette, that should do…maybe that’s what cigarettes do…restore your faith in humanity so that you can put yourself through a few hours of bullshit called life and animals supposedly ‘humans’ and then go for another to forget it all….