I don’t
smoke, but I felt like a cigarette. The remaining one, half exposed,
was lying next to me. ‘Sure, put some music on, if you feel like it. I’m easy’,
I would have said to it if it had asked me. I’d started stripping it off a
moment earlier, but then left the job mid-way - my organ hadn’t fully recovered
yet and wasn’t ready for another session: echoes of violent waves of pleasure
were still knocking about in my mouth. I was staring at what had triggered them:
the shiny wrapper, partly torn, covered only half of the Indonesian* thing. But
I couldn’t look at it without some reaction. I reached out my arm to touch
it. For a moment it hovered above what I wanted to desire... but still wasn't able to, so I dropped it. Ten years ago I would have carried on, but now I’ve learnt –
well, I was taught by my age - to take my time with pleasure; that is if there was
any pleasure to be taken.
I was relaxed
now, at ease with Crunchie (buried somewhere deep in the bin), at ease with
Cadbury, at ease with myself, at ease with life and even, I deluded myself, at
ease with death. It’s only appropriate to eat garbage, because we think, do (and
write) even more garbage. Wouldn’t it be offensive to some higher forces, if we
were careful not to allow it into our bodies while we allow so much of it into
our minds and souls, and - what’s even worse - allow so much of it to come out
of our minds and souls into the Universe?
As to Cadbury's
ripping kids off, it’s the way of the world, isn’t it? Money flows from
the confused to the ruthless, so that the confused at long last bang their
stupid heads against poverty and start thinking of gaining true riches; and so that the ruthless at long last start drowning in the emptiness
of wealth, panic and stretch their arms out for enriching poverty.
As to being at ease with myself, my life and my death
– I didn’t have any good excuse, except the fact that I was sweetly numbed by
pleasure. Well, I had
been a minute or two earlier, but philosophy sped things up, as philosophy
does. So I turned round and undressed completely what remained of the
Indonesian sweetie - and took it. Because there is time to understand the Universe and there
is time to experience - and enjoy – it. Again.
Decent lips, indecent content: it looks like
a piece of something awful produced by Cadbury.
*I turned out to be a little bit of a cheat: instead of staying loyal to Madagascan
Godld (Sambirano 71), I went for Indonesian Gold (Javan Light Breaking 69**); two squares in each box, which is fine: I can't do more than two in one afternoon these days.
