Considero un onore squisito questo di mettermi alla testa dell'ideale armata di fumatori che le rudezze di una legge conformista bigotta e crudele stanno per conculcare, affliggere e disgustare fino all'irriducibile dispetto. Sapeva chi mi ha comandato che ero e sono in possesso di ogni requisito.Sicuramente ho vissuto una delle mie infinite esistenze scoprendo il rito del fumo presso una vigorosa tribù di indiani del Nord America. Il calumet era considerato sacro come la soave estasi che ti coglieva affumicando le mucose della bocca e le papille con le ardue succhiate di aria carica di erba bruciata.Un francese ficcanaso scopre e da' il suo nome a una sostanza di which we feel only the Effectiveness nicotine. He safe healing. Gives sparkling lightness where you can handle it: wake up your mind encourages intelligence. If you are not yet ready to dominate, not even you can enjoy, which is logical. It is a subtle hangover that assails you and stuns with recurrent nausea. Madama nicotine wins as any pretty woman, like any delicious drink. Nothing comes easy that really is beneficial, not even poetry, do not say mathematics, philosophy, musica.Monsieur Nicot is a valuable intangible notary is a failure and up. What happens in the blood of a man like you takes your breath oxygen? It happens that the hemoglobin becomes charged with oxygen and oxy-hemoglobin: the Arterial blood carries the manna to the tissues. And what happens if the air enters the lungs already enriched the blue puffs of cigarette smoke? Chemically induced to take place, something important. The chemistry is too young, and so 'biochemistry, to detect the subtle delights that are let loose or just lay in the bone-hemoglobin ready to be lavished with the additive circle of smoke .... Here is unspeakable chasing ghosts. Mind if it populates sprays sublime fantasies, oddly auspicious poetry. A lively desire aspires to my daily calumet vita.Il with the first match is like the sacred fire taken from the Temple of Vesta. To avoid sacrilege from now on I will use the butt. I do not know how many cigarettes I light the way of carrying it giornali.Me 8:00 to 9:00 every morning. Then I will require a break in the shower. He approached the room. If successful long cigarette breaks or rhythm outstanding second time, the mysterious flares wise little fire that burns with oxygen in the blood hemoglobin. Always happens that offends a cook. I apologize flattering: the patina of smoke serves as a gap between my taste too much too intense and the finest in his art. Dimandare.Se and no longer the chef is a family member, the justification is well prepared irrefutable holy: and who tells you that it is not just a cigarette a pretext for a healthy and vital lung gymnastics? It is silent on mental stimulation. Those I know cherish secrets. The cigarette I am burning between his fingers as a faith. It does not take offense ... .. never more years around the world to beat furiously on athletes fingertips medium-proportional between the grinders and eagles. The rites are the most prominent dell'arsione sigarettizia, almost automatic. Possessed at least a hundred side by side squeeze tired and often corroded meninges. When the convolutions do not receive sufficient blood circulation, the fingertips in distress seek diversions. The first resource is offered by sister cigarette. It takes the packet, turn on the match, ignite the tobacco and while you hope for a release as deep (oh yes). Apprehensive eyes turn to glance at if the others - dogs, enemies - have noticed the breakdown, that is, the suspended circulation. Think what they want. The last folder is. The ideas and arguments are: the engine only needs replanting. The smoke that seem to draw unwanted signals. Nicotine takes its elegant sadistic whip lash and the meninges here reappear full screen full of fantasy. The fingertips quiver. Keys sing ticking. Your epic of the poor is repopulating heroes. Humble and prodigious drug burnt in an instant nemmeno.Viene not even remember the time when the soot is thick on the walls of the bronchi as happens in the fireplace wood fire or charcoal. Then you venture into the mighty forest of cigars. They are authentic miniature redwood. Take care to burn the pellets around, does not burn. The Tuscan is a vulcanetto pocket of those who spew fire at the slightest shock. The magma lava sublimates into coils by a council of war open to all the warriors of a people, not just one tribe. The turns blue and warm invade the mouth and attack the mucous as a devilish wind. The cigar must be conquered. It is a pleasure heavy and strong, completely devoid of frivolous flattery. The mouth becomes covered with a rusty crust on which, rubbed, will also light a wooden match. The practical advantage is the fact that smoking does not send the breath into the lungs, remains in his mouth than is expelled from the nose. If they hold the flames of hell, you can call yourself blessed, but it can happen that, fasting, crumpled you stomach, you are the fools inciucchiti stranguglioni as the scarring from the butt to ficcatagli becco.Resta in the pipe, which brings us straight to the Indians. Half of us have made the British, who invented everything, even the sucking smoke from a stove roots. The pipe inner peace requires a philosophical level, the sublime calm of the soul. Its delights are endless and not everyone will have access without appropriate religious resources. We must also win the smoke from sage secoli.Non now I have more room to highlight a phenomenon worthy of such high civilizations. I have only hinted at the pleasures that come from real smoke of burning leaves after years of preparations and conception. I have been in the ritual and plebeian svelto della sigaretta, misteriosa nelle sue aggiunte all'ossi-emoglobina. Ora, che il conformismo degli igienisti ci gabelli per santa una crociata di spegnimoccoli mi disturba fino all'orrore, non solo al dispetto. Sono anche sdegnato che il piacere degli altri si guardi sempre con l'astiosa invidia di un fratacchioncello magro e denutrito che piacere non può né deve avere. Allora, sapete, io dico: peggio per lui e per tutti quelli che somigliano a lui. Io intendo fumare fino all'ultimo fiato. Poi, che si arrangi la mia emoglobina. Vivere senza fumo sarebbe come dormire senza sogni.
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