“Never Gonna Give You Up.”

“I’m Never gonna give you up,”

IrvCigarBroker

nude h & a

I’m smoking a Hiram & Solomon Veiled Prophet. Now, before you, Ed – and George, have a conniption, this is one of my own.  I’ve been holding onto this one for a long time.  Why would they get upset?  It’s the most expensive cigar the company makes.  It comes in its own coffin.  But, since I’m bleeding all over the place, I might as well let you know it is my favorite.  The entire line is blended by D. Blanco.  This one just happens to hit my palate in the way a DewBeer© (Mountain Dew© and just a spritz of root beer foam) mixed in quenches my thirst – every time.

It’s thick, viscous and smooth as raw sourwood honey.  “A bold buttery sweetness on the front end and a round caramelized aftertaste on the back end.” (ashvillebeechamber.com) Complemented by willowy wisps of sprinkled roasted, pulverized…

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“Never Gonna Give You Up.”

nude h & a

I’m smoking a Hiram & Solomon Veiled Prophet. Now, before you, Ed – and George, have a conniption, this is one of my own.  I’ve been holding onto this one for a long time.  Why would they get upset?  It’s the most expensive cigar the company makes.  It comes in its own coffin.  But, since I’m bleeding all over the place, I might as well let you know it is my favorite.  The entire line is blended by D. Blanco.  This one just happens to hit my palate in the way a DewBeer© (Mountain Dew© and just a spritz of root beer foam) mixed in quenches my thirst – every time.

It’s thick, viscous and smooth as raw sourwood honey.  “A bold buttery sweetness on the front end and a round caramelized aftertaste on the back end.” (ashvillebeechamber.com) Complemented by willowy wisps of sprinkled roasted, pulverized coffee beans, mixed with swirls of creamery custard and rich, deep dark semi-sweet chocolate from Deutschland.  And pure, perfectly aged tobacco.  (This is where Barry White begins to sing “Never Gonna Give You Up.”)  

It all comes in rolled into a canon of ecumenical essences that makes hedonism look like a play date with Rusty Hammer.  Then all those aromas and essences are moistly masticated together into a slow moving sluice of phenomenal flavors that simply cannot be found in any other cigar that I have smoked to date.

Why such a heady reward?  I have been diligently working on organizing my desktop and to my surprise, there’s wood under all those papers.  Solid, glinty glowing oak possessing a light patina of an antique shade that finds its value in the years it has atmospherically absorbed so many stories, seasons, and sensuous slices of life that it has become one of a kind and will remain that way.

Yes, this is my reward.  This line of cigars has so many to choose from but I am very much in tune with the notes that my body needs to “resonate” satisfaction that any discordant, jerky dissonance would void the joy.  Any sudden movement would take away from what I am seeking –  solace, silence, fluidity of thought – and to enjoy the amazing pleasure a fine cigar can bestow upon the sensuality of human consciousness.  

I’ve already written too much . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and I am beginning to melt, to dissolve into the state an anesthesiologist monitors and the patient is so unaware of but solely is lulled into

total

re

laxed

un

con

scious

nessssssssssss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5zP7eQltDE&index=4&list=RDEMYtv2Vgg8pmO3SrIZeL3eMQ

(photo by Mario Sorrenti British Virgin Islands 1993)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From your lips.

mrs lips

We all make mistakes.  Verbal miscues.  We just don’t all admit to making them.  I have made a few in the past weeks and I’m just now beginning to realize that under the circumstances they weren’t that major.  The world didn’t end, split open, and spew out hot splashes of fiery retribution by the other party.  Life went on.  It always seems to. The papers are filed with the atrocities of mass murder and mayhem and then on the next page there are stories of new electronic gizmos that will again take our minds away from the next splatter of homicidal horror.

And so it is with the gravitational circulation of cigars and how they enter and leave the world.  What seems to be a tragedy one moment is overshadowed by the birth of another blend that will surely cover over the ersatz notoriety of the first.  It’s life and death.  Of everything.  A smidgen of this and a scatter of that and with it a swirl of the moisture of life’s blood and you have a situation that will last for a brief moment and then dissipate into the darkness only to be brightened by the next wave of “new.”  

Are they mistakes?  No they are attempts by homo sapiens to get into their inner selves. And at times we do what might be termed the right way and other times we do what others may consider the wrong way.  But the fact remains, we are all trying to be who we are.  To be able to get up in the morning and realize we have chinks in our armor and that we are not ashamed of the blemishes.

Sales is the greatest reflection of how a man or a woman handle themselves.  And if he or she is honest, gut honest to the core – they will be the most sincere individuals you will ever meet.  If they are bathed in self-honesty.  Sales is what everyone does everyday.  Oh, you may think you’re above others being a doctor, a lawyer, a professor, or a banker. But in every one of the latter professions the work gets done by selling.

The doctor sells personality and knowledge, the lawyer, his experience, a professor his mastery of a subject, and the banker his prowess with numbers.  The recipient of these notions is either a believer or not.  The gray sale is made up of billions of shades of truth.

That’s why the cigar broker is so much like the Chinese Century egg or Pidan.  He has broken down the complexity of the presentation creating a conversation of the variety of observations and information allowing insight into some of the more intricate flavors of the blend.   He has little to do with regards to the sale.  Oh, sure he or she (now I bring them together) can be all of the above, and spit-polished in every characteristic.  But the cigar?  It just sits there.  It waits to be put ablaze, drawn upon – and this is where sales means absolutely nothing – it’s neither good nor bad.  No hazy blurs, no snide-looking sneers glancing the other way.  It’s bitters or it’s chocolates. The cigar is the one thing the broker has that cannot be misconstrued – or mistaken.  It is certitude.  The broker may make a human error, but the cigar reveals its authenticity – its truth.  

And, as is said in John 8:32 “Then you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.” 

Ah, life is good.  Even when mixed up with the negative, asinine, preposterous pusillanimous bullshit that’s shoddily shmeared over each and every day by men and women.  A slip of the tongue.  As long as we have an azimuth of direction (our soul?) that orientation will take us higher than any now legal joint or illegally, chopped granulated street drug ever will.  It’s the cigar that shows us the way – right through all those so-called catholic mistakes.  

I’m going to light up a cigar right now and, ahem, prove my point.  Again.  Perfection does not exist.  Forgive me.  

(An extended period of time has passed.)

I’m back.  Quite a pleasure.  That.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKhrRgadxhc&list=RDMMA0WvXpyufT8&index=24

-30-   

Isyay ityay ethay igarcay?

cigar ash finger bw

New independent cigar brokers are popping up like mushrooms in a dark cave all with dreams of finding the cigar that will be the next pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Too, some of the offerings are cigars that are being reintroduced and have been around the block before.  

So, if what I write offends anyone, I apologize now.  Please, no hate mail.  I’m sorry.  I ask the forgiveness of the “Holy C,” for my sins of observation.  

I’m bringing this up because of an incident that occurred to me a few days ago, and for whatever the reason I can’t seem to purge the venom from my system.  Ergo, I write. And to make matters worse, I have no solution to the problem.  So you might say this is a rhetorical response to the reality of this business.

Think of the cigar with the new broker as the pre-schooler who needs a nudge onto the stage in front of all those people.  The kid won’t budge, but take it to the bank, all those nubile actors and actresses, regardless of how many times they are shoved onto the stage are not going to become Robert De Niro or Meryl Streep.  And I don’t care who the director of the play is.

In a recent New Yorker review of the newly released Aronofsky thriller, “mother!” author Anthony Lane writes, “. . . if you gave an extremely bright fifteen-year-old a bag of unfamiliar herbs (tobacco leaves) to smoke (blend), and forty million dollars or so to play with, “mother!” would be the result.  When I read that I laughed so loud I surprised myself I still had that much mirth left in me.  Then I read further and Lane writes, “many modern poets have trouble pressing free copies of their work into the hands of their immediate family.”  I howled at that one, too.

(For those of you who have not seen the film, the short review is, “This movie is insane. It sees so much, dreams so intently, finds so few reasons to laugh, and knows so little.”  So an even shorter review?  Bad movie!)   

Get it?  The cigar doesn’t sell the first time around, or the second time around, or the third time around.  

What to do?  Of course, find another broker (viewer).  Then another.  Then another.  Has the question ever been broached that maybe it’s the expletive cigar!!!

-30-

I am trying really hard.

IrvCigarBroker

Breakfast Scene                    

RINGO
About fifteen hundred dollars.

JULES
Put it in your pocket, it’s yours.
Now with the rest of them wallets
and the register, that makes this a
pretty successful little score.

VINCENT
Jules, if you give this nimrod fifteen
hundred bucks, I’m gonna shoot ’em on
general principle.

JULES
You ain’t gonna do a goddamn thing,
now hang back and shut the f*ck up.
Besides, I ain’t givin’ it to him.
I’m buyin’ somethin’ for my money.
Wanna know what I’m buyin’ Ringo?

RINGO
What?

JULES
Your life. I’m givin’ you that money
so I don’t hafta kill your ass. You
read the Bible?

RINGO
Not regularly.

JULES
There’s a passage I got memorized.
Ezekiel 25:17. “The path of the
righteous man is beset on all sides
by the inequities of the selfish and
the tyranny of evil men. Blessed…

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I am trying really hard.

Breakfast Scene                    

RINGO
About fifteen hundred dollars.

JULES
Put it in your pocket, it’s yours.
Now with the rest of them wallets
and the register, that makes this a
pretty successful little score.

VINCENT
Jules, if you give this nimrod fifteen
hundred bucks, I’m gonna shoot ’em on
general principle.

JULES
You ain’t gonna do a goddamn thing,
now hang back and shut the f*ck up.
Besides, I ain’t givin’ it to him.
I’m buyin’ somethin’ for my money.
Wanna know what I’m buyin’ Ringo?

RINGO
What?

JULES
Your life. I’m givin’ you that money
so I don’t hafta kill your ass. You
read the Bible?

RINGO
Not regularly.

JULES
There’s a passage I got memorized.
Ezekiel 25:17. “The path of the
righteous man is beset on all sides
by the inequities of the selfish and
the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is
he who, in the name of charity and
good will, shepherds the weak through
the valley of the darkness. For he
is truly his brother’s keeper and
the finder of lost children. And I
will strike down upon thee with great
vengeance and furious anger those
who attempt to poison and destroy my
brothers. And you will know I am the
Lord when I lay my vengeance upon
you.” I been sayin’ that sh*t for
years. And if you ever heard it, it
meant your ass. I never really
questioned what it meant. I thought
it was just a coldblooded thing to
say to a motherf*cker ‘fore you popped
a cap in his ass. But I saw some
sh*t this mornin’ made me think twice.
Now I’m thinkin’, it could mean you’re
the evil man. And I’m the righteous
man. And Mr. .45 here, he’s the
shepherd protecting my righteous ass
in the valley of darkness. Or it
could be you’re the righteous man
and I’m the shepherd and it’s the
world that’s evil and selfish. I’d
like that. But that sh*t ain’t the
truth. The truth is you’re the weak.
And I’m the tyranny of evil men. But
I’m tryin’. I’m tryin’ real hard to
be a shepherd.