inhaling serenity

 

The welling puffs of smoke from his cigarette underestimated the angst soiled inside his head, only disseminating those gray clouds for the moment; anxiety in silhouette under his barely shaven face.  Exhalation demurred for awhile soft glances of meditation like the smoky villages in Japan. But he confused the mist for a fog, thickly concentrated condensation of obscurity. Inhaling and exhaling, the demons go in masquerading as angels for the wet brain, to soften those external blows from shots of wind blown out of his nostrils, the pursing of his lips allowed for transformations of lightning bolt thoughts into fleshy compounds of his fist, pounding into the left arm of his chair. Down to half of a smoke, he wills his breathing into the air with shades of alacrity, the downcast sky his lampshade, the upstairs balcony his closest ascent to heaven. With one effortless puff, the cigarette is diminished down to the filter, the flame extinguished; the ashes ever reminding him of his daily porch contemplations.

 

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

A man and his cigarette, what a classical black and white television moment, excellent writing.

[T. R. Writer]

This is beautifully written. I want to say more, but it seems like those four words sum this up just perfectly.

[Blackbirdsong]

Come to think of it you never did read this to me last night...guess I'll have to wait for that. I know I say this a lot about your work, but this really is brilliant. You take a small moment and create a whole wonderful, mystical and breathtaking (no pun intended) world from it. This is what literature is.

[Jenny Davis]

Amazing as always, Lionel. I saw so vividly, the man as he puffed and pondered...wow. :)