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Coming to my senses: Taste

Submitted by Spam at 2007-08-15 17:12:45 EDT
Rating: 1.8 on 32 ratings (32 reviews) (Review this item) (V)

The first breath of smog soaked air is tactile, almost chewy, an impurity in total contrast to the clean, air-conned air of the office. The carbon and sulphur pumped into the atmosphere from humanity slides through my palette to choke my lungs and as I reach into my pocket for a cigarette, I can’t help but feel that it tastes fucking lovely, this, the unfiltered dirt of society.

This is where I’m supposed to be man, not locked in that fucking laminated monitored prison upstairs, but right here, in the open, exposed to the great unwashed.

Packet, fag, lighter, flame. Inhale.

Bliss.

And the tarry fumes slide into my chest to join the smog, that wave of relaxation washing over me a moment later. I’m light-headed and high from my earlier epiphany but my sense of wonder at the world and it’s delights has lost none of it’s edge. Fucking hell this cigarette is good.

I just wish it were something stronger.

So the decision’s made and I’m skinning up on the steps leading into my office before I even realise that I’m still supposed to be at work for another three hours. Fuck it man, run with it, that’s how these things go for people like us Sam, when you’ve run your course, you’ve run your course, pointless fighting it.

Like The Man says, we all follow the whim of the great magnet, I’d be a fool to defy him.

I stifle a cough as I take my first pull from the most rebellious joint I’ve smoked since that first day but the pain and ache on my lungs is worth it when I exhale and everything just flows straight out of me, all of the stress, the fatigue, the questions, the joy, hope, laughter and delight, everything. And I’m empty, sitting here on these steps, with no past no future, just the mysterious beauty of the ever-present Now.

I am the vessel.

I don’t know how long I sit there, blank. Time doesn’t really matter anymore, I haven’t worked any of this out far enough to be waiting for something, and where I’ve come from is already too insignificant for me to keep track of.

The wind picks up and carries with it more humanity, the taste of stale beer and nicotine, of sweat and vomit. I realise I’ve been staring at the ground all this time and when I look up and see the Pub across the street, my throat is parched and an uncontrollable thirst wells up within me.

Go with it Sam.

So again, I’m at the bar and ordering before I even consider the fact that my boss will have surely seen me stroll in here from his seat by the window. Fuck him though, that senseless drone. He doesn’t understand, he’ll never have this moment, never have this feeling. And suddenly my hate turns to pity and if I had an ounce of compassion in me for the prick, a tear or two would emerge.

The day’s black-bagged proper now, no half-measures anymore, no way we’re going back to that place today. The barmaid knows it too and she throws a worried look my way to see if I’m really sure. The grin I return is so heartfelt and genuine that she laughs and I can see that part of what I’m feeling has rubbed off on her, that, for a second at least, she wasn’t there anymore, behind thar stinking bar serving dickheads she didn’t care about. She was with me man, just for a second, but you can do a lot with that second my friend, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.

And when she’s sauntered off regretfully, I take a sip from the first drink of the day, Remy Martin, Champagne Cognac. The best.

And the sensation as I pour it down is so fucking amazing, so totally fucking pleasurable that I draw a sharpe intake of breath and shudder a little, like it’s the first drink I’ve ever had.

The experts will you that this tastes like the perfect blend of oakey ripeness, a roundness of summer fruits and violets.


But they’re talking shit my friend.


Because when you shed the confinements of life and stroll out of reality for the day, that first drink tastes entirely different.


Different to anything you’ve ever felt before.


It tastes like freedom.





Sight - http://www.ubersite.com/m/110845


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Reviews


Submitted by Linus at 2008-08-17 13:50:25 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

+2 Spam. I hope this works--goddamn thing took me an hour to write.

Submitted by Linus at 2008-08-16 11:11:46 EDT (#)
Rating: -2

LOL

Submitted by mrwolf at 2008-08-16 10:49:25 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by apollo88 at 2007-09-03 15:01:21 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

would you rather be beating say, Cardiff, two nil or would you rather watch aghast as you are comprehensively shown to be perhaps the poorest side in the premier league in the last five years?

Just wondering.


Submitted by zoobie2000 at 2007-08-22 20:33:43 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

"The step from massive clit to small penis is a small one. Tred carefully. "

made me laugh...

Submitted by TomAce at 2007-08-17 18:47:38 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! (See comment below...)

Submitted by bigdicrick at 2007-08-17 11:44:47 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Hard work is for suckers! Do as little as possible as to not get fired... the American way. Or just have dogs fights in the backyard of your West Virginia home....

Submitted by nicballs at 2007-08-16 16:22:23 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Excellent.

Submitted by Spam at 2007-08-16 14:59:31 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

It's the pendulous swing of life my friend, You can't be arsed to work but then you end up with no money so you can't do the things you want, so after about six months you decide to work your tits off. Soon, the money starts to roll in, but you begin to realise that WORKING HARD SUCKS BALLS - and you find that all of the money is bollocks, because your spending most of your day doing a job you don't enjoy, surrounded by cocks you hate.


I've realised it's all about mediocrity - finding that job that pays reasonably well that you can do with your eyes closed - that way you find the perfect balance of money and enjoyment - Tao style. Sure, you'll have to live with everybody tellin you 'you can do so much better than this' but what they don't realise is that THAT WOULD UPSET THE EQUILIBRIUM.


Or you could just take up drinking, either works.

Submitted by apollo88 at 2007-08-16 14:21:34 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

i'm torn.

i've really, really, really tried to be all grown up and to work hard etc etc but i'm just not cut out for it. i feel like a fraud.

<skins up>


Submitted by Spam at 2007-08-16 14:06:20 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

You remember who you're talking too right??

Submitted by apollo88 at 2007-08-16 14:03:50 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

is 1pm too early to get stoned?


Submitted by Spam at 2007-08-16 13:28:09 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

That's right my friend, join us, come to the dark side.

Bad guys have more fun, my friend - fact.

Submitted by apollo88 at 2007-08-16 13:02:47 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

drop the 'my friend' you folksy george bush wannabe faggot.

This is ace though, I can actually feel the transformation, I bunked off work today for no reason whatsoever.

I hope i'm not going mad again.


Submitted by Spam at 2007-08-16 12:53:01 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Besides, my wife wouldn't make me sell one of my bikes since she rides too.

--

I bet.

Submitted by skrapmetal at 2007-08-16 12:40:24 EDT (#)
Rating: 1

Submitted by JulsInsane (user info) at 2007-08-16 11:18:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2007-08-15 18:05:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1

One summer morning when I lived in northern Indiana I was riding my bike to work. I had the visor up on my helmet because it was very humid and I was sitting in traffic. The light changed and I started away from the light. I was in the right lane. As I got going, a car passed me in the left lane. It was a yellow late-60s Mustang with that big-block rumble. Seeing a space in front of me, the Mustang driver nailed the gas and that car jumped like it'd been stung. I smelled the unburnt gasoline and exhaust and rubber. That was all it took: I skipped work and rode 450 miles in the midwest sun that day. Didn't even call in. Freedom.
-----------------------
That was your motorcycle on Phuzzy's post wasn't it?
-----
Nah, I like early to mid 80s Kawasaki commuter bikes. I'm too old and fat and full-trousered for one of those Butt-Thruster 5000s or whatever it is. Besides, my wife wouldn't make me sell one of my bikes since she rides too.

Submitted by JulsInsane at 2007-08-16 11:18:07 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2007-08-15 18:05:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1

One summer morning when I lived in northern Indiana I was riding my bike to work. I had the visor up on my helmet because it was very humid and I was sitting in traffic. The light changed and I started away from the light. I was in the right lane. As I got going, a car passed me in the left lane. It was a yellow late-60s Mustang with that big-block rumble. Seeing a space in front of me, the Mustang driver nailed the gas and that car jumped like it'd been stung. I smelled the unburnt gasoline and exhaust and rubber. That was all it took: I skipped work and rode 450 miles in the midwest sun that day. Didn't even call in. Freedom.
-----------------------
That was your motorcycle on Phuzzy's post wasn't it?

Submitted by Amontillado at 2007-08-16 10:37:21 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by monkeyswithguns at 2007-08-16 10:31:23 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by DirtyHarry at 2007-08-16 10:08:06 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by Brdn_Nkd at 2007-08-16 09:19:36 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by TheUniter at 2007-08-16 01:16:22 EDT (#)
Rating: 2


Submitted by Stagger_Lee at 2007-08-15 23:30:58 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe at 2007-08-15 21:54:33 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by SunnyG at 2007-08-15 21:26:18 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Ok I properly read this, and it's awesome.

Submitted by Saeki at 2007-08-15 18:47:47 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Creative

Submitted by Crystle at 2007-08-15 18:47:01 EDT (#)
Rating: 2


Submitted by SunnyG at 2007-08-15 18:36:09 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

I've come to the conclusion skrapmetal is my new role model in life.

Submitted by skrapmetal at 2007-08-15 18:05:22 EDT (#)
Rating: 1

One summer morning when I lived in northern Indiana I was riding my bike to work. I had the visor up on my helmet because it was very humid and I was sitting in traffic. The light changed and I started away from the light. I was in the right lane. As I got going, a car passed me in the left lane. It was a yellow late-60s Mustang with that big-block rumble. Seeing a space in front of me, the Mustang driver nailed the gas and that car jumped like it'd been stung. I smelled the unburnt gasoline and exhaust and rubber. That was all it took: I skipped work and rode 450 miles in the midwest sun that day. Didn't even call in. Freedom.

Submitted by Ballare at 2007-08-15 17:19:31 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by sideshow at 2007-08-15 17:17:14 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

good stuff

Submitted by JonnyX at 2007-08-15 17:14:51 EDT (#)
Rating: 1

Spam is tasty and good


I think Smithers picked me because of my motivational skills.

-- Homer Simpson
Homer the Smithers