to smoke is to place a period wherever you are in your book of life, the finite shreds of paper in this compendium, this mortal coil we selfishly share, we drink and drum through. that is how the act is best used, in my opinion. it is to say ‘onto the next sentence, paragraph, or chapter, or whatever.’ it is to bind and to burn. it is to wave and to cleave. it is a burden and a blessing, a prayer for this and that paragon we have just encountered. she sings on the terrace. she sings through the boy and his trembling lip. sang through her cigarette.
a beautiful picture, the perfect film, shot with the most revealing camera; it cannot match this sequence—the finite stretch of tape you and i, and everyone who has had a chance to audition, abide on. it cannot match the evil. it cannot match the good. few have inspired me quite like you, so thankyou. may you find a warmer hand than mine.