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Paris. Cigars. Nine.When I lived in Paris.
When I smoked cigars.
I may have dreamed these words. I can't find them in ink in either of my two notebooks where the pages smell like cigars -- one cigar per page. This one Nicaraguan.
This one a Habanos.
Wait. Here they are. This page where the ink is smudged and the aroma muddled.
No. No, this is just an old story, not well maintained.
I need to dust off my older stories. Buff them a little before I can share them with you.
Paris. Cigars. Eight.When I lived in Paris.
When I smoked cigars.
You brought friends with you today.
This changes everything.
Chairs are rearranged. Cigarettes and smiles are placed on the table. Stories are inventoried, ready for display.
You know me better than this.
I am relieved that I am smoking a petit corona. I beg my exit before the half-way point. We'll talk later.
JimmyJimmy wears his hair slicked back. Most of the time he wears a porkpie hat made of desert camouflage material. It's his favorite. Let the bastards try to spot him when he puts that on.
Jimmy likes his cigars, too. His favorites are the ones with the little white plastic tips. They taste like cherries.
He couldn't find any this morning. His favorite corner store was out of them. Last week they'd probably had ten packs of them. Now nothing. The bastards probably bought them all. He has to settle for this dry, wrinkled thing that's supposed to taste like rum. Who in their right mind wants a cigar that tastes like rum?
Of Snake Charmers and TreesThere are mathematicians
that calculate the gravitational
pull that tethers us to one another,
teasing sense out of the fabric
of Time and Space like
wizened snake charmers.
I thought them so horribly
unromantic, searching for
logic amidst wildflowers--
reasoning being reason enough
to put one foot in front
of the other each day.
True beauty lay printed
on petals and pages,
where I delved for pearls;
the patterns in the pathos
intriguing me into each
rising of the sun.
I do not remember when
it occurred to me that
without fractals there would
be no trees, nor without love
would people have any reason
to calculate the distances that
separate them from their muses.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More