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Wednesday 27, May 2015



Smoke Hat

By: Agha Majid, Uploaded: 3rd November 2012

Our little friend Smoke Hat, he took a keen liking to words ever since he was a wee child. Inscribing random tales and inscriptions on whatever surface he could find.

As he matured into a young teen – it wasn’t long till his little hobby blossomed into a land of thought, criticism and philosophy.

Thus, was the background and early life of Smoke Hat – the pot-head.

And here is a self-based-written tale; that spurred out from the early 20s of Smokey – as I was the sole-inheritor of his possessions, which mostly included books, diaries, mechanics and pages.

Does Human Oblivion infect me?

There I was once again, sitting in the circle. Detached and in wonderment of different pathological turns – schools of thought; and well consuming cannabis in an ungodly amount.

Around me were men of different ages – but all of them older to me.

Coming from different background and having lead different lives, they all held treasures of human thought, critique and understandings. Which turned out to be the prime factor that lured me to their midst, which could have been aided by my dependencies – if I may call them that!

Usually I observed and engrossed myself, often unwillingly in the study of the natural structure of things. More than once, contemplating the detail of the way a certain ray of light would bend and the colors if would radiate.

It made my existence more appealing to the simple – rather dull – nature of my mind.

As I sat taking puffs off the pipes, this elderly figure who’d just finished his meal, took the remains aside and sat right in front of me and the chief of the communion.

We began conversing in no time and concluded the first principle of his life – that he liked to be identified as a policeman – more of a former rank.

The funny angle to all this was, the old man; despite having experienced different phases of life, began by wailing and complaining.

It did put me off in the beginning, but later on his rattling evolved into somewhat of an account of his life – which to no surprises, was still better.

It wasn’t long till we were due to go, that I had realized – I hadn’t honestly cared about the man’s trouble – but rather my focus ample within.

Was I too infected by the human oblivion? Too being eaten away by the nuisance and mundane-ness, of simple natured comprehensions.

Or plainly just a narcissist?

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Story first published: 3rd November 2012






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