10 march

i have set up my server at last i have another computer on hand to hold all this data runoff and amaze me further with wilner's persistence and skill, and the help of many folk in icb:mentat. so now there is much to do - with a cleared hard drive i can play more of the games that have arrived in recent weeks and finally devote my attention to a piece i'm working up describing how i reached this point of ever even wanting to live in perpetual persuit of geek nirvana for an incredibly patient and notably perceptive solid editor who has given me space and faith

but i digress,
amy brings up several points which i here wish to rebutt or expound or at least explore, especially with my archives behind me:

today i did indeed cite a pack of cigarettes in her pocket upon her life out the door on her way back to artland. this is a point of contention, the leading edge of which is mostly visceral, emotional:

i don't like kissing an ashtray

i hate the way cigarettes smell, i hate knowing that someone smoking doesn't get the full brunt of my cooking. does that mean i never smoke? no, i believe i've had one half of a cigarette since the new year. maybe more - i wouldn't remember, i was drunk

amy's purchasing her own pack, because these were fresh indeed you honey had clearly made your own space and dedicated resources to smoking which is indubitably a recindment of your previous ways: i mean to say
when i first met you amy, and i'll be direct with second person
you smoked intermittently, and that was okay but i wouldn't kiss you if you smelled like that foul stuff. so since we were together and kisses are sweeter than smokes (still, i hope) you eventually gave up those foul fires, at least for my proximate duration.

it is one thing to smoke with your friends, and i no more condone the unhappy bitches who gather in gaggles to alientate the lung-sensitive and exchange their witchy talk over loud music and cheap booze surrounded by a halo of ill-health talking trash against ever progressing upwards yes upwards away from their miredness in sadly adhering to some everpresent relaxant

can't you girls do it yourself?

okay i must admit there's some mistique attached to smoking precisely because it is stupid. and people who do stupid stuff like steal or beat their S.O.s and lie to congress, well they have a certain mistique about them. hopefully we find ways to create a mistique cobbled out of more unorthodox or less damaging distinguishers, or even relaxants, eh? i mean amy between you're pronouncing yourself vegan yogariffic and on the verge of an incredible break down/through daily, i am supposed to be on hand, your biggest fan, propelling you behind you blowing hot air into your baloon, saying, yes, please, be a healthy revolutionary and make your community and let it not stand outside the building crouching in the cold damp sucking a burning faggot-strand while the rest of us struggle to breathe between the already existing ugly polymers afloat around us even before you committed the insides of your chest to resemble so much sponsored asphalt.

i have some data on smokers, most notably from my own life, my father smoked. and while it was not the primary source of his sufferings (whatever was?) it surely dragged him down. i can remember many times hearing him hack and hack until his throat was bloody and he'd deposit something gnarly and bodily from his hand into the wastebasket. i think this picture just about says it all.

as for you routinely talking of your own father's mortality and decrying his continuing blowjobs of the thin white dicks - carltons are lowest than low and they are a sign of a dying dad perhaps: my father smoked them at the end. so yours smokes them now, much like building a tree out of cardboard - it's futile and sad to witness. and you see this and mourn in advance your fathers aura of illhealth and dis ease and so how could you even uncousciously begin to explore such a mileu of mildew?

as you rescinded your dependence last, over the glorious years we've been together, you've expressed a desire for health, for freedom. freedom from expense, from ill health. freedom to enjoy me without my severe bitching and even more moodiness. so how now could i not want to be a part of your tacit health plan?

and you failed to mention miss web page, i did return your cigarettes to you. there was a moment i was holding them, you facing me, us in our office. you were trying to be stern, forceful, leaving. i was growing increasingly fanatical, rememering - grabbing maggie (who?) at parker grabbing her cigarettes and running them under the waterfountain near the big gym and getting a ripped shirt in return. megan was smoking and we were kissing but i too held up some hostility and even moreso now because our lives are so intertwingled how could i not desire to see you smell as sweet as your purest body oder when i encounter you, bare bodkin, after a day of your labours?

i am reminded to don pearman who recently noted to me, us, that cigarettes are indeed declared more addictive than heroin. now perhaps that's silly prude-talk. but regardless you understand you are playing with demons larger than your head and if you expect to beguile them with occasional caresses they will soon have you laying in their bed evermore and i will have to wheel you around a tank of oxygen which i desire to do no more than i do desire to give up any of my destructive habits. if you should have to masturbate me for me i would easier accept that than having to suffer amy without air. air is sacred. tobacco is sacred. don't play please amy i miss you already it's a feeling like some smoke and shit is a white dick again supplating me in your mouth and leading you to hovels of smoky friends even more detached from their bodies than i am because i simply cannot ever feel good ugh when i have cigarette even near me oy.

and then she shows up in her full body art uniform gift from some friends. it's a dickies pant suit, it's bright red, and it makes her look like some kind of radical worker. accompanied by the smell of smoke, i can see the drama in it. it fits together into an entire portrait. it was like some kind of new take on an old artist paradigm. so that's all well and good, all beautiful people (and who isn't?) have their killing flawr and it's an astonishing thing that so many miracles are lost as people chase their reflections in some broken glass, distended air between.

anyhow i love you amy i want you to feel good and be healthy. if this is an open-ended relationship, and i declere it one from my end, then we must give an eye towards those addictions proven to absolutely weigh down all the systems of support and all that stands between us. don't lose your lovely lungs to a degree of obscurity and neurosis-shelving smoke-stuff.

and i write this myself curled up wraith-like, doing what wilson best imitates as wholly unnatural posture.

now, milady, as you requested, I have taken some yohimbe. when if you come home tonight i'll bury all this energy i have from yohimbe and server completion in your smoky breast. i'll kiss your cheek and it will remind me of how las vegas smelled, so i'll avoid your lips.