When I smoked the world was 2 dimensional. It was like a map. Rivers bridges roads etc I passed by like running a finger over symbols on an ordinance survey.
This was good, it served a purpose. Divorced from the world the brain was free to contemplate more theoretical problems. What is said of cigarettes is true they do aid concentration.
Sometimes, when I hadn’t smoked, ordinary objects looked startlingly different. They became three dimensional, I was aware of the space around them. I stared at them as if I hadn’t seen them before. Maybe Van Gogh had given up smoking when he painted that old wicker chair and pipe?
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