is this the real life, is this just fantasy.

so some of you gracious peeps out there have inquired, quite patiently, as to the nature of that which consumed my eager, distracted young mind during the long month du Novembre. This is but a scent, raw, natural, completely adulterated and ripe for the pruning. Such is life, though.....



as always

merci pour avoir lire.

jobe.



Driving home from class, Y’s mind raced. Why can’t I focus. I don’t want a job. I’ll live off unemployment. I’ll do yoga and side jobs. I’ll find meaning in my life and break from the machine too. Look at all the people in this world who have done so. I too can do it. I’m certainly smart enough, bachelor’s degree in engineering, master’s degree in pondering, my imagination finally realized. For a full twenty minutes he thought in this manner. The effects of a near two hour yoga class had long since wore off. Anxiety took over and mixed with his once vivid imagination to produce manic delusions of a life less ordinary. Creditors files were full of methods by which Y would find meaning in his life. Credit Card statements read of laptops and vacations, rounds of shots and Triple Five Soul hoodies. His lungs too could speak of years of physical abuse. Y was forever quitting pot, weed, the sticky icky, wacky tabbaccy, waui maui, happy plant. His body was allergic and his ears had been through 20 plus infections, but his mind craved the magical mystery tour that came specially packaged with two puffs off the magic dragon. The otherwise cruel cold world of nine to fives and corporate cocks disappeared with a little help from his friends. He drove into the underground parking space, locked his car and raced up the stairs. His roommate asked about his day as he headed directly for the bathroom. Too busy Mia, he responded. She wasn’t about to come between him and the object of his affection. He marched for the bathroom, flipped the switch and shut the door. Heart racing nearly as fast as his mind, he reached for a glass jar in a sink drawer. He popped the cap and lifted the jar to his nose. A smile spread wide across his face as his anxiety begged him for another breath of liberation. “This is what heaven smells like,” he’d say to a group of close friends as he waved purple and red buds in front of their noses. And they all agreed. They’d toke the chronic leaf and grow giddier than a bunch of school girls. “This is what heaven must feel like,” he’d opine. Certainly the state of no obligation, a heavy clean buzz, and a mind racing with visions and delusions of the art which he could create with his own two hands was enough to make any man think heaven lay in THC’s magical grasp. Y filled his corn cob pipe with a soldier’s helping of illegal delight, sat on the toilet seat and held the lighter just above the mary jane leaves. His gaze focused intently on the flame as it licked the white crystals clean. He took a deep breath as the taste of blueberries filled his throat. Blood vessels in his eyes swelled in irritation. He coughed loud three times and spat in the garbage can. Laughter filled the air as he finally achieved his buzz, his release from the certainty of suffering in the here and now. He leaned back and let his head fall to the tank while he continued to puff away on the pipe. Sugar plum fairies spelled the path towards fulfillment in his mind’s eye. First thing tomorrow he’d set sail for contentment. The alarm would ring at 6 AM, he’d pull out a pen and paper and start plotting a course for financial independence that led right through grad school, liberation from the ties that bind.