I lit another one. A Marlboro. That’s my brand of cancer-inducement. We long-term suicidals are brand loyalists too, you know. I sat there staring at it. Staring at the glint of the fire that was burning up the nicotine, arsenic and 400 other poisons held in that thin, white stick. I put it to my mouth and gave it a damn blowjob. Smoking is better than alcohol any day; I’ll tell you that right now and save you the trouble of getting drunk. Alcohol is a depressant. That’s why you see drunks picking fights and crying, whereas cigarettes are anti-depressants hence the laidback smoker. I sucked in the concoction of highly poisonous gases into my lungs. It burned my throat just a little. The mistake all my “friends”, who’re smokers too, make is quite simple. Hubris. They take the first few puffs very fast waiting for the high. By the time it comes, they’re cigarette’s finished. They light another one and start from the top. I know better. You keep a steady pace and exhibit some patience. The high will come. It did now. My legs felt weak and my head felt a whole lot lighter as I gave out a weird smile and took in another puff. That’s the right way to do it. The high intensified. I played ‘The Beatles’ on my Apple MacBook Pro. I began to chuckle and laugh. Another few puffs and I was in heaven. I began to look at my life and think about the infinite bunch of shitheads who malign it regularly and the two people who make it worth something. The last puff is a biggie; you take it all in and hold it while extinguishing the butt. Then let it go slowly as you lean back and begin to reflect on matters that require the heightened attention, memory and consciousness you get out of the devil’s bargain with nicotine.
Dames. Listen to every word they say. Then follow it without question. What happens? They despise you because you don’t respect yourself and get pushed around easily. Don’t listen to every word and do what you want. They despise you because you don’t respect them and push them around.
But what do I despise? I despise ants. Scuttling around the ground, carrying humungous loads, never stopping, never resting. All this work for a queen who doesn’t even know they’re there. Instead all she does all day is give birth to more. A whore-queen commanding the allegiance of mindless workers who are systematically and brutally made to toil for every second of their pointless little lives, all for the mythical “colony”. Poor bastards, they’ll never live in that mythical place. That’s because the moment it’s complete, an eight-year-old kid with a microscope will shine his light on that crazy diamond and follow it up with a stomp dance on the life’s effort of thousands.
I hate ants. They work and work and work. All for nothing and nothing for all.