Blue Smoke...is it a vision of glowing ashes rising like the Phoenix from the dust of long-forgotten TV dramas? It is the second-hand coffin nail from the elbow next to yours in that darkened room where someone croons to no one...
Out of all this comes the glaringly brilliant vision of the perfect world, the Xanadu of our Dreams, dancing plum-like before our eyes.
Do we turn and flee the strange bright light, or drift into it, as we know we must?
Columns of classic beauty like between ourselves and our goal, if such a thing is possible.
All this just to get out of Gunsmoke, Gilligan and I Dream of Jeannie re-runs, and mere escape would be so easy , but escape is not the plan...
Smoke that is blue is always smoke, but smoke is not, as you know by now, always blue.
This is not usually the kind of information one seeks in the space of Blue Smoke, but it does not matter much what one expected, because the space of Smoke of Blue is not malleable in the ordinary way, and beyond the ordinary there is only stillness and silence.
We have all been in that place...Where blue smoke and red smoke and white smoke and yellow smoke and grey smoke and orange smoke and violet smoke blend together to make something that cannot quite meet the eye.
So that is what Blue Smoke is all about, and it is just fortunate that it is all so simple that even a child of four could understand it.
Some smoke comes from things and some just is. This is the kind that just is.