Perhaps vesperae could expound on the notion of thantatos, the desire for death as it relates to our lovely addiction. Loss of control to an addiction is lovely and indeed erotic. Can one separate this desire from the merely visual titillation that a freshly lit Kent 100, packing a walloping 13 mgs of tar and one mg of nicotine, can bring one to the sexual edge, creating the ultimate inhalation: that of the fumes of our destruction? The small ember that signals we want to die in orgasmic pleasure, the crossing into oblivion through soiled advertising that encourages us to recklessly pursue our wish: to smoke in bed, pearls wrapped around our tongue as the smoke drifts lazily upward, a death spiral of addiction? A chemical romance between partners, the sweet sucking of over 4000 chemicals specifically designed to bring us to the open door that leads to eternity? Surely you understand the beautiful poison that is a meme of pleasure, sucking, exhaling, mouth wide open and eyes wide shut? A portrait Freudian pleasure that squeezes our heart and lungs until we are no more? The shared smoke in a cemetery leading to a petit mort of the consenting helpless addict? Please, V. Explain--a Benson and Hedges with our epitaph:for people like to smoke and come and die sweetly with a snap inhale where the seduction is killing us. They know!