Tag: poem

Oliva Serie G cigar paired with Johnnie Walker Black Label

Have a Cigar: Oliva Serie G Churchill

Chris KhatschLeave a comment

Name: Oliva Serie G Churchill

Country: Nicaragua

Shape: Parejo

Size: Churchill (7 inches x 50)

Strength: Mild to Medium

I wake up tired, dreams leaking, mouth dry.
I kiss my wife, “Good morning, love.”
Then I jump out of bed like a cat out of a trash can
and go downstairs to make coffee.

Another day. More work. Isn’t that my life?
But it’s Friday, so I work half day,
and it’s a sunny day.
Can’t let this go to waste.

“Me, you, and barbecue,” I tell my wife.
“How romantic of you,” she says as she smiles.
“I’m serious,” I say.
“Let’s do it,” she says.

Fire,
meat,
a bottle of premium Scotch whisky,
and a good cigar.

The sun is shining like there are no misfortunes in the world,
like work isn’t stressful and anxiety attacks are unheard of,
like death doesn’t exist,
like life is devoid of suffering,
like Lucifer is still God’s favorite angel.

The sun is shining,
and my loved one is sitting next to me.
Maybe I can call myself happy.
Right now. Happy.

Paradiso Clasico Cigar Review. Beirut, Lebanon.

Have a Cigar: Paradiso Clasico Robusto

Chris KhatschLeave a comment

Name: Paradiso Clasico Robusto

Country: Nicaragua

Shape: Parejo

Size: Robusto (5 1/2 inches x 50)

Strength: Medium to Full

Notes of coffee, dark chocolate, pepper, and bread. I lit this Paradiso cigar just to smoke something while I worked overtime. It was close to midnight, it had been a long day, and I needed to reward myself while working. I couldn’t wait anymore.

Work — an anaconda wrapped around me,
and I cannot withstand the constriction coil.
Work — labor,
toil.
God, I’m so tired,
dehumanized,
and bored.

Oh, I need a cigar.

Economy — an invisible monster
that feeds off time,
men’s finite amount of time.

Labor —
it is the “productive” digestion of time.

Laborer — also someone whose fingertips peck the keyboard
for more than eight hours a day
for money.

Employee — one who unknowingly worships Ponos,
one who offers himself as a sacrifice
on the altar of business growth.

Salary — like digested food is shit,
digested time is money.

Capital — shit that multiplies itself.
It is like bad bacteria.

Money — “Eat shit and see you tomorrow, buddy.”

Oh, I need a cigar.

And, well, I am working on my laptop now.
Look at me working now.
It’s almost midnight, and every task
is another log in the flame of fury.

Oh, I need a cigar.

Cumpay Corona Cigar Review.

Have a Cigar: Cumpay Corona

Chris KhatschLeave a comment

Name: Cumpay Corona

Country: Nicaragua

Shape: Parejo

Size: Corona (5 1/2 inches x 42)

Strength: Mild

I turn my back on the sun and light a cigar.
The sunset and the sea mean nothing to me.

I am overwhelmed with thoughts.
There’s always so much work to do,
always so much work left
for me to do.

It’s like my mind can never leave
the workplace.
My mind can never punch out.

I’m on standby all the time,
forever ready to receive an email
outside working hours.

No matter how efficient I am,
I will never accomplish enough
to deserve a good break.

I draw and blow white smoke
as businesses live and die.

Ghosts of CEOs and COOs slither out of my mouth,
and they all look like the man
in Edvard Munch’s The Scream.
They all look the same to me.

I want to scream, too,
but the neighbors may think I’m crazy.
So,
I turn my back on the sun and light a cigar.