Quitting smoking in the raw present.

Are you plagued by the cruel dichotomy of wanting to healthily quit tobacco-smoking whilst genuinely enjoying the act in itself (it HAS been a human pastime since we started recording time after-and-before-all!)? If so, take some time to examine the subjective psychological struts that prop up your own dependence on nicotine and see if you can’t kick a few out – are you holding onto that time when yourself or someone you may hold closer told you it was cool to smoke, and if so is that serving any purpose today other than the maintenance of your fiendish habit?… Alan Watts used to talk about an idea that; as children, we played a game with ourselves whereby the object was to elongate the amount of time before the commencement of any desired activity (“putting something off”) – whether it be eating sweets or going to the park after you’ve tidied your room, it was always sweeter or more enchanting if one had forced oneself to WAIT beforehand.
When this logic, then, is transposed back onto the abstaining from the deadly brown leaf, you can passively (and therefore quite easily) recapture the feel that it is you who are, psychologically speaking, in control of the decision/impulse to smoke or ‘the smoker’ – and from that perspective (alone) should you decide to quit – if that’s what you want to do. THE FOLLOWING should be on the bottom-front-and-back of fag packets (aren’t YOU sick of the impotent scaremongering on ’em currently?!): “If you want to get MORE ENJOYMENT/FLAVOUR out of your lovely delicious cigarettes, put them off, smoking less often and therefore giving your lungs a well needed chance to rebuild!” but alas, all we have at the moment are pictures of dead folk to show us just how resolutely and roundly DEAD we will be if we carry on – like some inane photographic old wives’ tale!
It’s as simple as, when you want a cigarette, really zone in on that pulling part of your psyche that seems to implore that you have one and open up a conversation with it – it’s a bit of you! Ask yourself questions like “how long, I wonder, does one of my cravings really last?” and observe the answer to your own question – watch the craving end! THEN review if you really do want a cigarette. It is hard but you’ll start to see that YOU are the master of the whole game – YOU are “the smoker”! Right that’s all for now, I’m just off to have a tasty stick of smouldering hypocrisy…

The anticipator’s streampad.

Welcome! to the twenty-first centaury – where good old freethinking Friedrich’s falling ones are (apparently) as good as any standard of living. They only fall and fall and we only jump and jump right along with them, only to be churned into a paste and left in the bottom of a tin wondering why NOTHING hatched and after some frowning maybe turning on your computer and putting a few :/’s on a few websites. Let the waters of your fretting be parted, however, by the after (or before)thought that these standards are only falling in real life – and none of you take any responsibility for that at the end of the day,
do you?
The shadow’d illusion of a vast gulf between experiencer & experience, doer & task, feeler and feel is one of the few things which does exist – so on we look in (vain?) hope toward the closing of such a chasm. And, when the very last person has heard the sweet clack of the latch and closed behind him the gated entrance of dear-old Azure re-attained & now beheld, then and only then can sunlight properly penetrate the air, illuminating, for the first time shamelessly, our past cortical deviations and loose ties in need of a tidy snip.
Honey, we’re ALL the world’s forgotten boys and girls – so let us not forget each-other!… Just go and have a dance or something and you’ll start digging what I mean.

Art/Egot – ism.

I would think there’s probably a lot of psychic overlap between people who are said to be great egotists and people who are said to be great artists.
And, if this is true – then can egotism even be looked at in the same light? That same old green gloom of regret and shame?
I think NOT – for art is that simultaneous expression and impression of the pattern of life, the very grain of the wood in the tree of life!
(I’ve got a blue biro-scratching of a little tree in the notes at this point and wish an equivalently spirited effect could be had on this window of illusory plasmic phonetics)
Endeavor to attatch less and less to the mere explanation of this holiest of facts, however – for alone it provides little for the guts to get around. And life IS the guts.
Annotate it all if you fucking must – but just remember that the master of such annotation is your own self and there is never the reverse of that, you won’t ever answer to your own rules.

Metamistflow.

Fortune’s fronds brush the brisk air gliding along glassy pearls of grassy dew.
Mist sprays the dawn with an echoing ecstatic eeriness that will exhale the full presence of all the day’s humming eventualities.
A rising cascade of this cotton-air caresses the edge of a slit-windowed stone church in a skirt of the city-centre, sucked off the surface of the emerald flatgrounds below by the gilded horn of Torricelli’s trumpet from its jut out of the clouds above on behalf of the cherubim.
But suddenly, what’s that?!
a shuddering crack of light and sound and a fade into the ever-exfoliating whiteness of the void