Sarcasm Central

As You Slowly Light Your Never Ending Cigarette

I’ve got a few posts in my head right now and even a few drafts here on WordPress, but for some reason I can’t seem to decide what to write.  Definitely content creation FAIL.  I’m thinking about writing styles, about Pinterest, about my book, about self-criticism, about so many different things.  Even about poems and old journal entries.  I took a look through a few of them this weekend and there were some gems inside.  One I found particularly interesting was a sketchbook that I had with me one night with some of my friends.  It was one of those party nights and instead of sitting around like I normally would have done, I had the sketch book and I drew pictures and wrote down what was going on around me.  It’s a snapshot of that moment in time, frozen forever in my notebook, ready for me to pull out whenever I want to remember.

The truth about writing is that it is a memory, it is creating a snapshot, like a Polaroid of a time and when you read it, you are taken back to that time and that place.  I think we forget so much of our lives, I know I do.  I feel the need to catalog, to write down how I was feeling or what happened because I know even 6 months from now I will have forgotten what I did on a certain day.  It’s almost scary to me, the fallacy of my memory.  I want to remember, but I know I won’t.  I can’t remember every day of high school or even my routine, I can’t remember conversations or events in my past.  This scares me to have forgotten my life.  Writing preserves my life, preserves my feelings and thoughts.  And looking back on them brings all those emotions back again.

Below are the words I wrote down on that day.  Nothing amazing or eye opening really, but it’s my life, a day I spent all those years ago and for this, for the fact that I wrote about it, I am glad because otherwise it would be lost forever.  I’m amusing myself as I write this because this post is two different things mashed together.  It is a beautiful statement, a deep statement about writing as a means of remembering our past, both the painful and the beautiful and in this case even the fun and then once you skip below, you will find crude party language that is such an opposite from the writing I’ve done here.  Ha.  I’m a study in opposites, the great writer, as I dub myself, who writes about drugs and parties.  Feel it with me ya’ll cause this is the kind of thing you shouldn’t even put on the internet.  The funny thing, there is almost a poetry to this strange mash up of words…

Gravity bong
No shit
We should not throw the football
I tried to palm it
Up on the roof

Say what Motha-fucka?
I’m gonna crush your head

Chill days, in dim haze

That crazy part of me just got fucked
I jumped into the issue
Got stomped around
You ate something slick
Poised on the edge of tomorrow

Gravity is real, they told me so
So, just say I’m slick
Courage I tell you

Individuals in motion on the axis of the earth

I can remember the 80’s
I can kick your ass
As you slowly light your never ending cigarette

All that is left at the end of the day, reflections and beer

Free consumption of sharks and dinosaurs
Ground up, they taste good
Well who knows?

What are these twists of events?

I’ve become the color red
Color spectrum, ending lights

Today is made of cheese
Tomorrow mouse turd

We can hope to specialize in dentistry
And live by the code of honor

Balloon torpedoes on a dark night
Splash to earth with violence

Churning beer allows my stomach to speak
A language all its own, to speak to me

Sometimes I’ve got things to do

You masturbate more than anyone on the planet
Some asshole kicked in the window
Get yourself some clear plastic

This room is super ghetto
Shoes are in the pit
I’m not sure what to make of these feet of mine

Smiling cats, meow

Greatness is achieved by wearing big pants
They were 30 feet, I swear
Well, Hello Smartass

We have to somehow harness this power
We would rule the world

They get food in the mail, they control everything
I would not eat an egg right now

Strangeness is brewing

Am I not the fucking shit?
The ceiling is weird
I’m sweating like a mad man

We have abused drugs a total of 673 times today

About Victoria Sawyer (283 Articles)
Victoria Sawyer is a blogger, author, graphic designer, social media enthusiast and mental health advocate. Shocking, honest, sarcastic and humorous, Victoria aims to make readers feel tangible emotions and physical sensations through writing that brings you into the mind and body of someone suffering from panic attacks, anxiety and this strange often darkly hilarious thing we call life. She published her novel Angst in 2013, which realistically and often graphically depicts life with mental illness. Along with crazy blogging, Victoria enjoys reading historical novels, playing with her naughty cats, engaging in rants and metaphysical existential meltdowns and using punctuation to excess in everything she writes.

4 Comments on As You Slowly Light Your Never Ending Cigarette

  1. Wow, I love your style and it’s rawness and subconscious stream of thoughts and ideas. Awesome blog! Keept at it =)


    • Hey Thanks! Funny, cause when I was over at your blog I was thinking, hey this guy is like me! We’ve got similar styles! Thanks for stopping by..and I’ll be sending deets soon about the blog hop! Hope you can partake. 🙂


  2. I could almost see the party as I read, actually, lol. My favorite line is “tomorrow mouse turd”. For some reason I snickered when I read that. Great stuff about writing for memories–I do that too.


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