All Of My Smoky Mornings

 I commited an artistic suicide. I quit smoking. Not because of my housemates', friends' and family's crusade against me, but just becase one day I looked around and I understood I can't do this any longer. The awareness came totally unexpected, somewhere in between Stansted and a lovely village starting with a 'B' and wa dressed as a nice charming girl named Cornelia. She was the one who gave a cigarette. As a former chain smoker better known as a 'chimney' I smiled and, not interrupting a friendly chat, welcomed my afternoon with a nice path of smog in the air. Then the fate happened: something holt on my heart and didn't want to let it go. I felt dizzy all around my world and head and I couldn't take any breathe in. Finally, I woke up from this fever daydream still fighting with caughing, with one thing understood: my limit of smoking had been finished.

 With sadness in my heart, I have to announce that I am already of a non-smoking side of mirror. I lost my only medicine for Monkey Seduction. I don't want to convince anybody that smoking is a good thing, but you have to admit that its' amazing philosophy can be seductive. Imagine this cafes in Paris, and Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, coffe communists in Prague, Vitezslav Nezval and more of them, Moulin Rouge, this artistic underground which popularized a habit of smoking all around a world.Once I've done even some online test about what kind of artist I am, and a result was: smoker. My dark side. Not active anymore. 

 I used to blame my dad who used to sing me this song: 'That's a habit of destiny, what's meant to me, that's gonna be, just give me tobacco a pipe and that;s it, and let's the sun shine down on me'. Thanks, dad!

Recently I read that Kate Moss smoked on a runway. Three days after I quit. Three days to late smoking got finally a piece of a good fame. The salvation is always late.