The Body Electric

I’m nearly 24-hours smoke free. I wasn’t going to have one at all yesterday, but my will is weak. I skulked around the house, glancing in drawers, checking my emergency-cigarette locations. I found one, limp and gorgeous, at the bottom of my purse.

Right now, though, a day into quitting, wonderful things are happening in MAH BODY. It’s like a little New Year’s miracle, on a cellular level. (Humour me here. I am in misery.) My blood pressure and pulse have returned to normal, as have carbon monoxide and oxygen levels. Unfortunately, the healing is accompanied by a dull, throbbing headache, a sore, scratchy throat, and a hateful disposition.

To stave off the cravings, I’ve been reading. Voraciously. I finished Tropic of Cancer and began it again. Because I’m reading Miller, I am also reading Whitman. Naturally.


Hold me tight, Walt. Tell me you love me.

Whitman is the greatest American poet. Don’t argue with me. That said, he’s awfully fuckin’ cheerful. Last night in the bath, I read the first three pages of Leaves of Grass before launching the book across the floor. I lurched, naked and soaking from the bathtub to recover my bent-paged, wrinkled copy of Tropic of Cancer.

“Today I awoke from a sound sleep with curses of joy on my lips, with gibberish on my tongue, repeating to myself like a litany — “Fay ce que vouldras! . . . fay ce que vouldras!” Do anything, but let it produce joy. Do anything, but let it yield ecstasy.”

His words move over me, around me. Phrases that caress and strike. Penetrating, tedious words. If you’ve not read Miller, you should.

Tropic of Cancer

Holy Mother of God, what does this crap mean?



Filed under writing

10 responses to “The Body Electric

  1. Good luck, good lady! Cardiovascular and pulmonary health await on the other side of the withdrawal symptoms. You can do it, one moment at a time.

    Find your zen, good lady. Find your zen and work it!

    • sarafraser

      Meh. I’m not doing it for my health. I’m doing it so I stay PRETTY. Seriously, cigarettes age a woman super fast.

      Yeah, and I don’t want cancer.

      Zen, baby. Zen.

  2. O god be with you! I’m planning to tackle that terrible duty soon myself. I’m going to use the drugs that make you have scary dreams and want to kill yourself- what could go wrong? It’s better than smoking my wonderful little cancer-causing amigos.
    Keep me updated. p.s. Isn’t it a bitch that smoking is really the artists friend? DAMN YOU 2010!

    • sarafraser

      Ha. I made it through a playdate with no cigarette. If I can do that, I can do ANYTHING. Also, you know what I’m doing instead of smoking (and reading)? Girly stuff. A face mask here, anti-aging peel there.

      You can do it. Give it a shot; we can bitch together.

  3. and you’ve inspired me to read H. Miller.

  4. Karen

    Soooo. I spoke to you today. For all your readers – this was our convo: (sorry I have to do it)
    SF: HellOO
    KS:Hey what was that site with that story yo wrote from way ba..
    SF: WhAt the FuCk are You TAlkInG abouT?
    KS: Um, the uh story I just need the address of the site, I want to show it to Greg
    SF: (Cole garbles in the backround) Cole! Do NOT even TALK to me when I aM On ThE PhONE!! Its
    KS: gbsD or T
    SF: d – IT’S DFT!!
    KS: Hey
    SF: What
    KS: You alright?
    SF: I quit smoking today.
    KS: OK love you bye
    SF: K Love you too – Bye … COLE!!!

  5. Dan

    Go Get ‘Em…..seriously, good for you. The only thing better then being pretty is being alive along time and pretty!

    • sarafraser

      Thanks. It’s hard, but it was just the right time. Instead of being resentful (I am when I give up shit), I’m trying to look at it from the POV that I’m doing mahself a FAVOUR. Yeah, that sometimes works.

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