you may worry about my state, dear reader, but you shouldn't. our messages often bely (or belittle) our truths and directions. i like to play with smoke. this is true. i am a wretch at times, or can imagine being one which is just as effective. besides, pain can be as lovely as joy, yes?
i'm not entirely sure if i write these words for you, dear reader, or for me. i suppose when all is said and all is done, we'll all sit back with a fondness of a sort, remembering the mischief i've wreaked upon this life. whatever the outcome, the art remains. we are works of art, beginning in action and ending with a release and a sticking to. the art of living, of cause and effect, never perfected because it already is. and everlong will it continue to fascinate.