What if?

Benson & Hedges: Don't let your worries kill you like Ben's son in the hedges! Smoke your way out...

Camel: Ride the camel through the worrystorms. Rescues you from the desert of worries!

Dunhill: Not climbing the Dunhill may cause fatal worry cancer! Smoke to the peak.

Gold leaf: You're special. You're not smoking tobacco, you're smoking your worries away!

You could smoke away your worries? Every time you winced and wrinkled your face to yank smoke into your lungs, you could inevitably spit out into the world fumes of your cancerous worries? Every fag end you stubbed meant you whipped the butt of a band of unruly worries? Hahah! You could hear the strangled shrieks of your ashen faced worries resonating from the pit of the ashtray?

Initially, I would frantically huff and puff, dance, and fire gunshots into the skies-Arab style! I would lie on the ground, arms and legs sprawled, smoking Hookah. I would smoke a Havana and tickle Benjamin Netanyahu. I would take hits from weed joints and sing parodies of  Kawali songs. I would do a voodoo dance and blow smokes on a grumpy Sumo Wrestler's face. With a big grin on my face and smoke billowing from my mouth and nostrils, I would shoot at 'ugly' politicians with a water shot gun.  

What after the initial frenzy?
 A mob chasing me. Benjamin Netanyahu threatening to put me on a cigarette ban forever; Mossad could surely make that happen regardless of whichever place of the earth I inhabited! Kawali singers yelling abusive songs at me. The Sumo wrestler swearing to crush my bones once he got hold of me. The politicians, teary eyed, swearing in their abusive local dialects (more worries for me because I'd need a translator to figure what they were actually threatening me with!)
And I run, run- big strides, hopping, leaping, skidding- taking ever big puffs of smoke, and blowing smoke every time I turned around to see my chasers. Then I bump into a sign post reading ' Have you angered passive smokers today? Don't worry, treat them to our finest brands of worry alleviating cigarettes from the nearest vending machine!'



I'm about to buy an assortment of cigarettes, to pacify the mob, when I suddenly hear 'Wait! Hey you shameless smoker man! You're deadmeat! Did you know that research suggests passive smoking poses as much a risk of removing  worries as does active smoking?'
' What's the worry then, why're you chasing me?' I scream back.
By now they've caught up with me. It's a dangerous stand off. I'm smoking ever quick!
'You've ruined it all you...you..crazy addicted smoker guy! Reduced worry, reduced performance!'  a politician man  lambasts. The Kawali singer man steps up and asserts himself ' Do you even have the slightest idea about performance anxiety! Arousal can be enhanced by anxiety and therefore heightens the degrees of sensitivity and imagination. In other words,  it is helpful and necessary to perform tasks more efficiently. '

Performance! Pffttt... I bail myself out saying I'd smoke 'blanks' only in the presence of others(How could I stop smoking altogether? My worries are the kind that stamp the neural circuits of anything remotely similar to 'performance' ). I swear at that by the cigarette clamped out of shape by my frightened lips.

'Phew, that was close' I tell myself. I fish a smoke out of the pack, and something catches my eye: Smoking can cause heart stroke. That gives me the goose-pimples. I feel my face. Thank god! None on my face! I wonder why we don't have those on our faces, but my thought is displaced soon...  I turn the pack every way around to find the 'promising label' but to no avail. I light the fag and take a strong drag. I'm spinning in a bubble of worries...  The smoke I exhale is pervaded by the thought: What if you could smoke your worries away? ( A voice inside me says- Yeah yeah bonehead, you would display worry-labelled bottles, stuffed with ashes from every cigarette you smoked, in some Musee de Extinct Worries..Hahah.)

silent reflections...

Thoughts cram for space in my mind. Happens so often, so spontaneously, of it's own accord. Maybe it happens to others too, I'm not sure. Mine are about right and wrong, just and unjust, true and false, and to-do or not-to-do. Are they little sequences of silent revolutions? I'm not sure. They say everything happens for a purpose. Whether the purpose is for you to comprehend or not isn't for you to decide I suppose. Am I right now? Maybe there's good in that. But the moment I say 'maybe there isn't', I'm actually talking about this word discovered as 'controversy'. Where there's a choice there's a controversy. Isn't that so? We might be slaves of one choice or another, groups of believers of one thing or the other. But then again choice makes us human. At the same time not making the right choice can make you inhuman; animal is the word right?

Contradiction. The best of all species -humans- judging those of it's own kind, among themselves. Some will always judge and some will always be judged. Do you know any better? Every act of good and bad-what are they for? Who are they for? Selfishness. The happiest of mankind is he who can claim he doesn't know of selfishness. He who has never been subjected to it. Can man be truly selfless? If true exists that is. Every act of good and bad- manifestations of one's effort to be selfish. Is it not? Who am I to judge? I'm only entitled to an opinion.

I'm only human. Is it when you know this, when you fail to understand any of this, when your mind goes static, that you conclude- You can go only so far as your legs can take you. As for he who has no legs you don't know where he can venture. It's only one opinion which is blurred in a continuum of right and wrong. Right? Wrong?