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Reminiscing, over coffee,
about cigarettes became as bad as I could be. My party days were long gone. The twelve steps led me to freedom.

Only some of the time, I would think about cigarettes. The rest of the time I was just being. Not thinking about anything, driving here, walking there, oblivious and totally aware at once.

I'd come a long way, is how I'd put it.

Just being was the strangest of achievements, but it worked wonders.

Ode to Story

Philosophy will turn my angels to theories.
Science will disintegrate my constellations
into flames randomly set in the void of time
And space.

Where else is a man to go
But to story,
which is free;
which needn't neglect any reality.