Dropping Smoke

Posted: 15 February, 2012 in Daily Droppings
Tags: , , ,

Shuffle says: “Carry That Weight” The Beatles Abbey Road

Gods I hate poetry, I don’t know why I do it sometimes.

.

I think I should take up smoking. I did for awhile, until I realized that I only liked everything about smoking, but not the actual inhaling part. But writers are supposed to smoke, so maybe I should start again. They’re known for smoking and drinking heavily. Then going out back and blowing out their brains or stomach lining with a shotgun. It’s because I talk with my hands. They constantly move. I tried to stop, but I have found that I can barely speak with any coherence while keeping still my carpels and I constantly make the pantomime of flicking off a faggot. It’s that finalizing motion of intelligence. But that’s what we do, right? We drink and smoke and pound it out on the typewriter and are never satisfied with anything we put out. Our sense of victory is absent, absent, absinthe, isn’t that what we are supposed to drink? I guess I should take up smoking. I love the typewriter. DING!                                                                             S

H

I

F

T

!

CLICK!

New line

New thought

The majestic image of the typewriter. It’s the sound, the percussion, the rhythm of ideas, of language, of production, like music. The sound of art. But necessary are the strokes the pressure the pounding that may not be so well absorbed by the fragile frame of a laptop. These days everyone seeks the quite keyboards and the ergonomic positioning. Bollocks! I have to have noise to type. The louder the better; The harder the better; and fuck the properly placed hand positioning. Writers are to be marked by their cigarette, their alcohol, and their withered fingers. If I had my way computers would be powered by rhythm and the keys would be laced with firecrackers.

DING!                                                                                                              S

H

I

F

T

!

CLICK!

New line

Old thought

Chorus

So maybe I should take up smoking. Go through a whole pack on a sleepless night of writing. I don’t have enough money to buy cigarettes to write. Now that’s poverty. No trendy peyote poem to put out to feed my fix. That’s what they use, right? Modern poets on psychedelics. The old ones were all on opium. Rockstars on coke and burnouts on heroine. Painters on grass and dancers on Valium. Why are drugs so damned trendy? I guess I should take up smoking. A writer by trade I don’t make much. Don’t have much. Don’t need much, but time. No time, and then no sleep. This is how I afford my drugs. I just don’t sleep. Should give me the same effect, right? Or maybe just buy a good ashtray. Light the cigarette. And let it burn next to me. Taking it all in second-hand. Maybe then I would at least be a second-rate writer. I love typewriters… and ellipses… and leaving in my typographical errors\. It’s artsy. Just like those sleepless nights I chose to stay up watching labyrinth instead of doing something “important”. I guess I should take up smoking.

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